


The Aby of Darkness

by padawanjinx



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 11:36:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 69,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2066652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padawanjinx/pseuds/padawanjinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sunstreaker’s reputation as a ruthless fighter and violent lover are well known. But when his passion can no longer find completion, he searches desperately for the one thing to lift him into the heavenly abyss of ultimate fulfillment. Unfortunately for him, soaring in ecstasy only means you have further to fall. And the consequences to getting what you want can be just as scarring as the desire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This is going to be a Dark and explicit fic. Don’t like, DON’T READ. You’ve been warned!
> 
> Smut, D/s, Sticky, NON-con, Humiliation, Angst, Dark, Violent, Gore, Revenge, and a lot of other things I don’t know the initials to or ‘code’ for. If anyone knows of anything else to be added, please let me know. I want to get all warnings and ‘labels’ correct. Thanks!
> 
>  
> 
> Takes place during the Golden Age when Sunny is a gladiator in the Pits. I’m using a little leeway here in making it to where he’s there voluntarily and Sideswipe isn’t part of the ‘games’. 
> 
> This hasn’t been beta’ed. All mistakes are my own.

The Aby of Darkness

 

Chapter One

 

\-------- ---------------- ------- ------- ------- ------

Aby- to pay the penalty of; restitution 

 

\-------- ---------------- ------- ------- ------- ------

 

Sunstreaker stalked down the hall, his optics still overly bright with emotion. His spark was singing in its casing, the song as wrothful and piercing as the mech himself. His step faltered as his left knee gave out, causing him to go stumbling into the wall. With a growled curse he pushed himself upright and continued his trek, oblivious to the trail of energon left in his wake. 

He burst into the med ward, a tornado of anger and carnage. The medic started when he entered, but upon seeing his visitor, jumped to immediate action, lest he be the newest recipient of rage from the gladiator. Sunstreaker grunted when he sat on the nearest berth, his struts threatening to buckle. His gears gave a grinding hiss, and one popped with a noise that was very disconcerting. There was no doubt to the damage his body had bore during this evenings match. His opponent had been brutal, matching him strike for strike, cut for cut. They had danced a long, dangerous dance without tune, except for the thundering rhythm of the crowd and the pulsing of their sparks. 

Now, his opponent lay lifeless upon the floor of the ring, his face twisted into a surprised grimace, a blade protruding from his neck. 

The medic hurried to attend his patient, careful to be as quick and precise as possible, lest he earn the ire of the gladiator. Sunstreaker seemed the only gladiator not afraid of the rules or of the consequences for breaking them. 

Most gladiators knew that No One attacked a medic. They were the ones that put your back to together and collected you from the grip of death. It was suicidal to harm one, for the next time you went into the ring and needed the medic’s assistance, he could be ‘unavailable.’ Most sponsors of the fights kept the gladiators in check, by reminding them of the medics healing touch, and the consequences of harming one and rendering him useless. If a fighter was downed, and a medic was too injured to perform their duty, then the one responsible for the transgression would make restitution. Sometimes with their life.

Sunstreaker never paid any attention to the rules. And for good reason. They only got in his way. He believed that one had to be ruthless and aggressive if they were ever to accomplish anything. He had ripped off the last medics arm when he didn’t attend him fast enough, and though most gladiators would have been seriously reprimanded, Sunstreaker had gone unpunished. The fact didn’t go unnoticed by the other gladiators, but they wisely kept their vocalizers shut. If they were paired with the warrior in any double or triple matches, he was more than likely to turn on them, as well as the enemy. He allowed no leeway, and any perception of a slight against him was grounds for immediate termination, usually by his own servos when the victim least expected it. 

The medic began his diagnostic, already calculating necessary parts and healing time. The damage was bad. The healing time was going to be longer than what Sunstreaker was used to, and that was a concept the medic didn’t find soothing. Sunstreaker hated inactivity, and if he was kept from the ring for an extended period of time, he was known to attack anyone on a whim, usually resulting in their dismemberment or deactivation. 

“How’s my favorite fighter?” a mech yelled, entering the med bay without announcement. He was a tall mech, dark green and brown striping, with accents of white along the crest he wore on his arms and helm. He was a high ranking businessman of the lower sector, and displayed his achievements in gaudy fashion. At least Sunstreaker thought him uncouth, but the mech was a slagging genius when it came to hosting matches and finding sponsors. He was also quite profitable with side betting, knowing how to pad the books and alter odds in a very favorable way. Sunstreaker had already amassed quite a fortune. 

“Fine,” Sunstreaker answered, not looking to the newcomer. 

The mech stepped next to the medic, his golden optics scouring over the readouts on the medic’s screen. “Oh dear, it doesn’t look fine from here.”

“Nothing out of the area of our medic’s expertise, I’m sure," Sunstreaker replied flatly. He was tired, and though he’d never admit it out loud, in a lot of pain. It was difficult keeping up the tough-mech bravado. 

“Want to know how many credits you made tonight?” the mech asked in an oily voice that gave Sunstreaker a shiver. 

“What were the odds Grotto?” Sunstreaker asked, his attention more on the medic than the gladiatorial ringleader.

“Sixteen to one,” Grotto answered, his voice lowering to a devilish inflection. His smile because even more greasy as he added, “You made over four hundred thousand credits.”

Sunstreaker looked to the underground boss, his optics shining in surprise. “What?”

“Oh yes, there were hefty wages placed on your opponent since he took down the City Guardian. Most didn’t think you would survive,” Grotto said, his glossa snaking out and tracing around his lip components in a sultry, covetous manner. “You made quite the killing, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Sunstreaker offered a snort, his attention going back to the medic who started the tedious task of removing armor on his left knee. Sunstreaker’s alertness doubled when his armor was removed. He didn’t like being vulnerable.

“Would you like some entertainment for the evening?” Grotto asked, and there was a strange lilt to his voice that made Sunstreaker look twice. If the gladiator was honest, he thought he heard a wanton yearning coming from the ringleader.

“The usual,” Sunstreaker grunted, breaking optic contact when he felt his spinal struts turn to ice. There was something about Grotto that made Sunstreaker feel cold inside. The gladiator could swear that each time they locked optics, he felt twenty degrees colder. 

“Are you sure you don’t want anything else?” Grotto asked, and there was no mistaking the inflection in his tone.

Sunstreaker refused to look at the mech; instead he kept his attention focused on the medic, who was disconnecting the pain receptors along Sunstreaker’s legs to begin the tedious task of inspecting the busted junctions. “Take out your usual fee for your services and accommodations,” Sunstreaker said, having that odd sensation of having something slither over his plating. “And take an extra five percent. Treat yourself.”

Grotto gave a slow exhale, “Already deducted my usual fees,” He pulled out a datapad and began typing away, offering a disgruntled grunt when he finished. “Thank you for your generosity.”

“Just see to it that I‘m not disturbed,” Sunstreaker said, raising his optics and giving a pointed stare. “I value my privacy and I appreciate your professionalism.”

Grotto allowed a disappointed look to cross his face, which quickly morphed into one of pride and adulation. “Anything for my best fighter.”

“See to it that I remain happy, and I’ll continue to earn you credits,” Sunstreaker said, giving a nod toward the door in dismissal. 

Grotto looked momentarily stunned, but realizing his company was no longer wanted by the vicious fighter, gave a curt bow and took his leave, calling over his shoulder, “Your entertainment will be waiting in your quarters.”

Sunstreaker watched the lumbering mech leave before returning his attention back to the medic. “Hurry it up.”

“Both knees will need to be replaced,” the medic said, a quaver in his voice. 

Sunstreaker glanced over his legs, flexing the joints and hearing a disturbing combination of grinds and squeaks.

“Can it wait until morning?” he asked, wanting to get back to his room and the pleasures that waited. 

The fights did nothing to assuage the fire that burned deep within, an all consuming inferno of rage and passion and desperation. When he left his enemy bloody and beaten in the cage, or their lifeless corpse sprawled in disgusting manner in the ring, the fire only burned the brighter. The only way to quell its thirst was to lose himself in another, and as time wore on, many others. 

“I can repair the minor damage in a few kliks,” the medic said, his fingers retracting to reveal the instruments of his trade. “The more intricate damage can be repaired tomorrow.”

Sunstreaker offered a curt nod, his expression never changing as the medic set to work. 

 

 

Two hours later, the gladiator was hobbling down the corridor to his private chambers. He smiled as he passed the doors that lead off into other quarters, most of them uninhabited. It took a lot of hard work, dedication, and pain to make it this far in the gladiatorial circuit. One had to earn their way into these accommodations, though very few had been granted access to this level. 

Many of the fighters had been bought or sold in the Pits, but Sunstreaker had willingly allowed himself to be pulled into the hypnotic spell of the crowd. It didn’t take him long to display his prowess, and earn himself a place among the plush quarters of the most profitable gladiators.

The roar of the crowd. The screams of the victims. The chants of life or death. The taste of energon upon the body. Powerful hands grasping empty spark chambers. The sheer joy of watching another’s life ebb away at your fingertips. To feel the final pulse of their life. 

Oh yes, Sunstreaker found it all intoxicating and he went willingly into the depths that terrified so many others. Delicious. Beautiful. And by Primus if it didn’t make his spark pound in excitement and lustful anticipation. The fights, the pleasure bots that inevitably waited just behind his door, it all culminated into a writhing beast, full of greed that always hungered for the next offering. But there never seemed to be enough to satisfy him. At least, not for long. 

Sunstreaker stopped at his door and keyed the code, though why he bothered having a coded lock was a mystery. Grotto had his combination, which is why when Sunstreaker opened the door, there were five pleasure bots waiting patiently in his quarters. Two mechs and three femmes, all light build, enticingly painted, and obedient to every command. Sunstreaker gazed at their expectant faces, realizing he didn’t know a single designation among them. 

Oh well, it wasn’t like he would be calling out their designation during overload. But they all most certainly did know his designation, and many had chanted it to the heavens and galaxies beyond as he took their bodies and sparks.

A feral smile graced his face as he closed and locked the door, palming the extra security measure into place. No one would be leaving without his consent. Not like any of the pleasure bots would. They were bought, sold, and traded like common goods between the upper class. They were trained to do their master’s bidding and were always eager to please. Sunstreaker vented a soft sigh, watching as a pale green femme approached, carrying a tray with energon goodies and high grade.

He smiled, accepting her offered drink and downed a good quantity in a few mouthfuls. He mused to himself as she picked up an energon treat and offered it to him, it was nice to have subservient beings at your beck and call. It was truly a rare commodity, especially with a new Prime demanding the freedom of all. 

The pale green femme placed the treat in Sunstreaker’s open mouth, her fingers brushing along his bottom lip as he allowed the sweet to dissolve. It warmed his analytical sensors and made his glossa tingle. He glanced to the two mechs standing by his berth and nodded to the stack of neatly folded cloth.

“Attend me,” he ordered the mechs.

Both immediately jumped into action, grabbing cloths. They approached cautiously, mindful of the dangerous animal they were about to intimately engage. One wrong swipe of a cloth and they would be lying on the floor with their spark ripped out of their chest. It had been done once before in their presence.

A very stupid mech, new to the life of pleasure slave, had rubbed too vigorously along the fighter’s injured body. Instinct had taken over and before any one knew what happened, the young mech was laying on the floor, his spark chamber gripped in black hands. They all had paid the penance for the transgression, Sunstreaker having brutally interfaced with each and every one, leaving all the pleasure bots in pained silence. That lesson had been learned well, and now all who served him, did so with the utmost care and reverence. 

Sunstreaker nodded to the other two femmes in the room and growled, “Assist them.”

They bowed their head in obedience and joined the two mechs, who were carefully massaging the latches and seams of Sunstreaker’s armor. Carefully, the mechs removed the battered armor along his back, setting it aside for later attention, their cleaning cloths delicately polishing the dusty, thin plating that protected his protoform. 

The femme holding the serving tray offered another energon goodie, her optics shining with youthful intent. Her willingness to please radiated like a birthing star. Sunstreaker smirked, plucking the small glowing treat from her hand. He grabbed the tray and set it on a small side table before returning his attention back to his receptive audience. As the tingling warmth continued to spread throughout his oral cavity, he placed the other treat against her lips in invitation. 

She immediately complied, allowing the gladiator to slip the small confection into her mouth. Her lips closed around his fingers, sucking gently on the digits.

Sunstreaker’s optics darkened. With a growl he withdrew his fingers, grasped her shoulder and forced her to her knees.

“Pleasure me,” he demanded, his interface covers sliding back to allow his spike to fully pressurize. 

Without hesitation she wrapped her lips around the tip of the spike, the warmth of the energon goodie making her mouth hotter than normal. Sunstreaker gasped, feeling the tingling sensation envelope his spike as she started to explore his length. Her glossa traced the grooves along the spike, slowly rolling over hidden nodes. Little pinpoint tingles indicated sensor nodes priming for charge. She rolled her glossa expertly over each node, slowly working her way down the spike. When the tip brushed against the back of her intake, she applied a little suction, twisting her glossa along the underside and earning a lustful gasp from her master. 

Sunstreaker gave a pleased purr, his hands gently cradling the green femme’s head as she constricted her mouth, undulating in a delicious rhythm that brought Sunstreaker climbing frantically to his peak. He thrust forward, pressing his spike into the exquisite rolling of her mouth. Her intakes sputtered momentarily, but she didn’t protest his rough handling. She relaxed her body, allowing him to set an erratic, jerky rhythm, his hands steadily tightening their hold on her helm as he tried to culminate his pleasure.

The two mechs and femmes disengaging his protective armor carefully maneuvered their fingers along the latches, mindful to not break the gladiator’s concentration as he sought release. Piece by piece the armor was placed on a nearby table to be cleaned. The two femmes slipped their smaller hands between the seams along Sunstreaker’s abdominal plating, easily accessing the tiny latches and sliding his abdominal armor away to reveal the battered body beneath. 

Sunstreaker felt the coolness of the room sweep across the thin paneling of his protoform as the last of his armor was removed. The sudden gust of air along his torso, coupled with the heated friction of the femme’s mouth, was enough to send Sunstreaker spiraling into overload. He detruded violently, his fingers denting the malleable metal of the green femme’s helm.

She struggled against his onslaught, pain bursting across her neural net as her face was squeezed by violent, viselike hands. Each thrust scraped across her intakes, causing her to gag. But Sunstreaker was insistent and demanding. He held her head firmly in place as he pumped his hips, relishing the abnormal contractions around his spike as she sputtered to take all of him. His transfluid exploded, hot and fast into her mouth as he sunk his spike one last time into the inviting heat, uncaring of her choked murmurs and leaking optics. She struggled, disoriented from the pain along her helm and intakes, but still trying to please her master by swallowing his transfluid. 

Much to Sunstreaker’s chagrin, there wasn’t as much transfluid as he hoped. 

When he first mastered the nuances of pleasure, his transfluid seemed to be an endless stream. He often commented that he could fill a femme so thoroughly; she’d taste the flood of his transfluid from her valve.

Now, barely a couple of mouthfuls would escape. And the gladiator felt jilted every time he didn’t see a valve overflow with his essence. What could have caused such a disappointment?

It didn’t have anything to do with him, certainly. He was healthy, vibrant, virulent, and very active in all interfaces. He had visited the medic many times, but was always given a fully functioning bill of health.

He released the green femme’s head, indifferent to the dents along her helm and watched as she swallowed hard, coughing slightly when her intakes twinged. After a few seconds, she regained her senses, and following true to ingrained protocol, she leaned forward and began to bathe his now limp spike with her lingula, cleaning away the evidence of earlier arousal. 

Sunstreaker watched the femme with intense optics. If the problem didn’t dwell in him, surely the fault was with his partners. He observed as she meticulously licked every inch of his spike, her glossa systematically swirling back and forth, slowly circling and dipping into the grooves and tracing over the sensor nodes. She gently pulled the tip into her mouth, sucking quickly on the end with hurried puffs, while her lingula wove around the now relaxed slit that expelled lubricate and transfluid. When she was finished with the spike, she started along the edges of his interface panel, showing just as much attention. 

Something seemed to snap inside the gladiator. He grabbed her head, forcing her away from his body. Her optics looked surprised and expectantly into his own. Sunstreaker forcefully shoved her back, making her go sprawling on the floor. She remained motionless, waiting for his command.

Sunstreaker stared down at the femme, taking in her demeanor and submissive manner. He could ask anything of her, and he knew she would perform to the best of her ability. It was invigorating to have that kind of control. But it was also very disappointing. 

Something felt... wrong. 

Off. 

He didn’t know what it was, or its source, but there was a strange, itching along the back of his processor. Like something wanted attention, yet its demands were being ignored. And through all his life, Sunstreaker knew that if he went unfulfilled, it could lead to all kinds of unpleasant things. 

“Show me your valve,” he said, optics drifting from her face to the junction of her legs.

Without question the panel retracted, showing a very lubricated valve. Had any other mech witnessed such a sight, they would be overwhelmed with the need to claim and ravish the femme until both parties felt gratified. But Sunstreaker didn’t feel any inclination to shelter himself in the awaiting valve. If anything, he felt disinterest in her offering, knowing she lubricated and bent to his will without thought. 

He wasn’t sure what motivated him, but he commanded in a deep tone, “Overload.”

Since the femme’s body hadn’t sustained any stimulation, there was no charge for her to concentrate on and allow to overcome her senses. Regardless, she tipped her head back, displaying her wet port in open observation and moaned, lubricant pouring from her valve as she mimicked an overload. 

Sunstreaker couldn’t explain it, but he felt disgusted. Her display would have had a normal mech on his knees in pleading supplication, begging to join her, but Sunstreaker found her attempts hollow. There was no emotion behind her display. She had no true desire behind her motives. She was faking her pleasure just to appease him. 

“Get out,” Sunstreaker growled, his lip curling in distaste. 

The femme’s head snapped to attention, her optics wide in fear. Perhaps she did something wrong? Maybe there was something else her master demanded of her, and she wasn’t providing him with the distraction he desired. She sat up, slowly rolling her hips, her glossa pressing along her lip components, her optics traveling to the mechs still limp spike. Her intentions were clear.

“I said, get out!” Sunstreaker snapped, his voice rising to a gruff shout that caused the pleasure bots to jump.

The green femme scrambled to her pedes, wobbling unsteadily as the damage to her helm made itself known. She approached the gladiator, trying to assuage his rejection, but she never got the chance to speak. Sunstreaker’s hand lashed out, cuffing her on the cheek and sending her spinning around like a dancer. 

Sunstreaker’s palm slapped the controls before he grasped her by the back of the neck and forcefully tossed her out of his quarters. The four remaining pleasure bots exchanged scared looks, but no one dared to vocalize their concern. The gladiator was just in his normal, volatile mood. 

Sunstreaker nodded to his discarded armor and glared at the two mechs as he growled, “Polish it and leave.”

The two hastily jumped to obey his command, thankful his ire wasn’t centered on them this evening. Both mechs worked in silence, secretly glad the femmes were going to take the brunt of the gladiator’s lust. 

The two femmes instantly went to Sunstreaker, their nimble fingers stroking his protoform and caressing the wires they knew to be extra sensitive. Sunstreaker’s venting hitched with their attention, closing his optics and allowing their well educated digits to play his body like talented musicians. Blindly he guided them to the berth, gasping as a mouth found his main fuel line along his neck and began to suck along the protective mesh. The other femme concentrated her efforts along his chest, her lingula sliding sensually along the seams that hid his spark chamber. Both femmes continued to stroke and explore his body, feathery touches ghosting along his interface panel, before firm fingers twirled the pressurizing spike into complete hardness. 

“Our will is to please you, Master,” a voice said huskily next to his audio before the lips once against claimed his neck. 

Sunstreaker felt something rise like acid in his tank. His optics flew open to focus on the black helm that nuzzled his neck with such fervor. 

She was just another mindless drone, only here to do his bidding and offering no real emotional connection. 

Well, if their only function was to see him sated, then he may as well make the best of it. 

Sunstreaker resigned to the fate that was so cruelly presented to him. Swiftly he spun one femme around, bending her across the berth. She immediately grasped the edge, opening her legs and preparing for his intrusion. Sunstreaker offered a grunt of derision and buried himself in her valve with a mocking sneer. 

The other femme continued her exploration, her hand dauting the contracting abdominal plating as he started to withdraw. He groaned as her hand circled the base of his spike, applying a steady pressure. Her fingers massaged along the complex design of spike sensors, before drawing lazy circles at its junction. Sunstreaker jolted as his protoform was stimulated and rocked his hips forward, the femme’s hand trapped between his spike and the other femme’s body. He withdrew slowly, allowing the contracting valve to massage his spike in its erotic way before slamming forcefully back into the femme. As he withdrew for another potent thrust, the deliciously talented femme’s fingers squeezed the base of his spike for added stimulation, the femme below him started to moan. Her voice quickly escalated into gasping adjectives and encouraging titles for the mech that was bringing her such pleasure. 

Sunstreaker stopped mid-thrust, his optics zeroing in the side of her face as she cooed and praised his prowess, her cheek rubbing against the pillowed texture of the berth. A litany of flattery fell freely from her lips as she continued to move against him. He pulled back, looking down to where his spike was still partially concealed in her body, and gazed with apathetic optics as she writhed against him, trying to reseat his spike. Little whimpers escape in protest to his absence, turning into a wanton keen. 

Snarling in contempt, Sunstreaker grabbed her hips and forced their bodies together. A strangled noise escaped her vocalizer at the sudden impalement, but before her processor could register his presence, he withdrew again. His spike started to rage with his emotions, demanding satisfaction. He complied, every intention of punishing the femme, though any thought to her actual transgression was vacant from his processor. 

Sunstreaker opted for sheer force as punishment. He grasped the edge of the berth as an anchor and drove forward, burying his spike to the fullest, the action causing the berth to jump in perfect time. The femme let out a choked scream at the frantic pace. The wonderful charge that had been building, now shattered by the mech who wanted nothing more than to viciously tear her apart from the inside out. 

The femme who had been caressing his body, gave a startled gasp. She watched helplessly as her master drove relentlessly into the crying femme. She reached for him, hoping to distract him from his ferocious attack, but Sunstreaker wasn’t going to be dissuaded.

As fast as lightning, his arm whipped out, striking the intervening femme across the face and sending her crashing to the floor in a dazed heap. Brutally Sunstreaker pitched forward, focusing all his attention on the yielding valve. His overload tore through him abruptly, blanking his sensornet as the charge overwhelmed him, his transfluid jetting into her awaiting valve. A few spastic jerks and he withdrew with a wet pop, spike still fully pressurized and begging for more. 

Little stars erupted across his visual relays from the charge still coursing through his body, their essence burning along his vision in dancing patterns. 

Sunstreaker’s unfocused optics strayed to the valve that just dispelled him and noticed the thin silvery dribble of escaping transfluid. The femme muffled her sobs, hoping not to stoke his ire. She kept her legs open in invitation, though tremors rattled her plating from the pain she was undoubtedly feeling in her valve and spinal strut. 

Sunstreaker’s might was overpowering, his interfaces always so intense it took a long time to recover from his brutal affection. Not only were interface arrays overworked, but the entire body suffered from his aggression, struts bowing, cables snapping, wires and lines severed by pinched plating or overzealous denta. Sunstreaker was never a gentle berth mate. 

With a contemptuous look, Sunstreaker slapped the femme’s legs, the action causing her thighs to collide with a dull clang. She couldn’t stop the pained cry from escaping and slid herself from the berth, curling into a ball on the floor. She was sure her valve lining was torn, and something was burning and twitching deep inside that would need medical attention.

Uncaring, Sunstreaker turned to the femme who was still slouched on his other side, her optics slightly out of focus due to accidentally hitting her head on the wall when the warrior had backhanded her. Sunstreaker didn’t seem to register her injury though. Roughly he pulled her to her feet, and gave a hard shove. The back of her legs hit the edge of the berth, tripping her so she landed heavily on her back. And before she could focus on the shadow looming over her, Sunstreaker grasped her legs and hooked them over his shoulders before burying himself in her valve. She yawped at the intrusion, but like all pleasure models, her valve was already well lubricated. Sunstreaker slid smoothly into her body, her fluids coating his spike. 

Brow furrowed in concentration, Sunstreaker rocked his hips, feeling the tip of his spike strike the sensors in the back of the femme’s valve. She gave a soft mew as the friction awakened her sensor nodes, all coming alive and returning the charge from the thick spike sliding elegantly across their tender surface. Not needing further encouragement, Sunstreaker braced her legs against his shoulders and placed his hands on her hips, forcing her to meet his thrusts. The shifting angle and oversensitized nodes gave a crackle, before the valve spasmed in overload. With a roaring curse, Sunstreaker erupted, slamming his spike into the clenching heat, his body twitching as the spasms milked the length of his spike, selfishly drawing out every last drop of his transfluid. 

Finally sated, the gladiator rolled off the femme, his limp spike pulling free with great reluctance, haloed by a crown of silver. Sunstreaker felt his spark pound against its casing as his systems tried to cool themselves. His fans whirred as his vents sucked in air to dispel the heat that had built. Distantly he heard soft feminine voices and with bleary optics, noticed the two femmes murmuring at the edge of the berth. 

“Bathe me and you may go,” Sunstreaker said, feeling suddenly very dirty. The thin plating covering his protoform felt soiled and entirely too tight fitting for his comfort for some reason. 

The two femmes mumbled acceptance and collected the discarded cloths from the two mechs busily buffing dark gold armor into a lustrous shine. Sunstreaker lay half dozing, feeling the gentle swish of brushes across his frame, followed by the gentle pressure of a soft cloth swiping along his body. The movement was relaxing and the femmes were done far sooner than Sunstreaker expected. He could have spent all night enjoying their meticulous cleaning. 

With a drowsy wave, Sunstreaker excused the four pleasure bots, who bowed low and took their leave in a hurried manner. Sunstreaker didn’t care. For now, he was content, though the little voice in the back of his processor chastised him for accepting such a pittance of fulfillment. There was more to interfacing than quick pleasure and willing, mindless drones that felt nothing for the ones possessing their bodies. 

Sunstreaker powered down his systems, preparing for the early morning that would find him under the surgeon’s scalpel, and then the long, tedious boredom of rehabilitation. Perhaps while he healed, he could ponder on what was missing? Finally find that elusive piece and like everything else, have it pinned beneath him, submissive to his desires. 

As Sunstreaker cycled into recharge, his processor churning, his spark gave a happy flip in its casing, letting him know he was headed in the right direction. Soon, he would be truly satisfied. His spike gave a twitch in exhausted agreement.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to portray Sunny as an jackass, because its vital to the plot. Yes, there’s plot to this, I swear! He just has to go through these horrible interfaces/experiences to realize what’s missing, and then watch as his world falls apart. Trust me, he’s in for one hell of a nightmare!

The next morning Sunstreaker arrived early at the medics, and after a brief haggling over price for ‘extra’ measures, the gladiator was unconscious and undergoing double joint replacement in his knees. And factored into the equation, the medic was going to add a couple extra shock absorbing springs to the appendages, and reinforce the plating, lest his hard work get scrapped the next time the fighter took to the ring or cage. 

Unbeknownst to the fighter, the medic was also going to use the time to augment the plating along his right shoulder and elbow, where his scans had shown prolonged abuse that needed attention. Sunstreaker always waved off the suggested treatments, but now that he was at the medic’s mercy, he was going to receive his new implements. Now the medic had to pray that once the warrior found out his rehabilitation was going to be prolonged because of said adjustments, Sunstreaker wouldn’t extinguish his spark in convalescent anger. 

When the medic was finished he secured Sunstreaker’s inert form in a private ward, as per their agreement. Sunstreaker was counting on the medic to keep him safe while he was vulnerable. If anything happened to the gladiator while he was under the medic’s care, there was a good chance the medic wouldn’t see the hand that split his chest and ripped out his spark.

As an added measure, two extra security locks had been placed on Sunstreaker’s room, though if anyone tried to bother him, their life expectancy would drastically dwindle. And just for his own piece of processor, the medic set up a medical drip, keeping the volatile mech under sedation for most of his rehabilitation. 

When Sunstreaker felt the first tingling of awareness starting to boot up his systems, he gave a lazy groan, not wanting the peaceful bliss to end. He reluctantly booted his optics, the first thing greeting his cloudy processor was the steel gray of one of the healing rooms. 

His optics fell on the tall contraption beeping softly beside his berth, a little light indicating that it needed attention. A hiss, followed by a metallic, stuttering beep, and the light flashed, before it gave a low whine, turning itself off. 

Sunstreaker followed the small tubing from the machine to his arm and with a strangled bark, shakily plucked the tubing from its anchor. A small bead of energon formed from the tiny puncture. 

The sound of many locks disengaging drew the groggy mech’s attention to the door, and due to his environment and countless hours training, Sunstreaker tensed, expecting the worst. Body uncooperative, he strained to roll on his side, not intending on facing an opponent lying on a berth. But his body was still under the relaxing spell of the sedative, and only managed a low whine of gears before falling motionless back on the hard surface. 

The medic appeared a second after the last lock disengaged, his chipped white paint discernable even through Sunstreaker’s hazed optics.

“How do you feel?” he asked without preamble, gaining the side of the berth and employing his scanners.

“Like I had a guardian to sit on me,” Sunstreaker replied, his voice rough with static as his vocalizer reinitialized. 

“Well, with the shape you were in, I wouldn’t have been surprised if that was the case,” the medic gave a shaky smile, hoping his attitude didn’t set off the gladiator’s notoriously wrothful temper. 

“Feels like I charged for millennia,” Sunstreaker said, trying to get his arm to respond to his command, but only getting a weak flopping of his hand in compliance. “And why can’t I move?”

Taking a deep intake, the medic explained the situation hastily, hoping that if he said it fast, it would take longer to process and with Sunstreaker still ailing, he’d have a good enough head start on an escape. 

“Both knees have been replaced and reinforced, and while you out, I repaired the damage to your shoulder, neck, and chest area from the structural imperfections I’ve detected for some time and you never allowed me to properly attend. I also gave you a concentrated form of medical energon, enriched with boron and magnesium, to give your repair nanites a boost.”

Sunstreaker’s optics narrowed, his internal diagnostics slow to boot, but his relays confirming the medic’s words. Okay, upgrades he could handle, it was good they were implemented while he was undergoing reconstructive surgery, because he certainly wouldn’t have taken any time off from the gladiatorial fights to recoup. What he couldn’t fathom was why he was so slagging tired!

“Why am I so sluggish?” he asked, finding his leg jerk to a stray signal for moment. The action caused a slight twinge in the joint, but nothing flared red across his HUD. 

“To assist in your rehabilitation, I sedated you for half a megacycle,” the medic said, bracing himself for the violence to come. 

“What!” Sunstreaker snarled, his anger lending strength enough to pull himself into a sitting position. “I’ve been charging for half a megacycle?”

“Nearly,” the medic corrected, taking a step back. Technically Sunstreaker should still be too weak from the lingering sedatives to move with any form of cohesion, but since he was able to sit up, the medic wasn’t taking any chances. “It was necessary to allow you enough time to accept the new parts and to integrate them into your systems!”

Sunstreaker’s lip curled in contempt, but try as he might, he couldn’t get his body to respond. A message flashed across his internal display and alerted him to unacceptable tension to the still grafting cables of his legs. Begrudgingly Sunstreaker lay back down, angered that his fans kicked into high in answer to his internal temperature. 

“Please, you still need time to recover,” the medic said, hoping to further assuage the atrabilious mech.

“How much time?” Sunstreaker hissed, fists curled at his side. If the medic was in striking distance, his throat would be crushed.

“It all depends on how well your systems adapt,” the medic said, hoping to emphasize the importance of a cooperative patient. “As of right now they are at eighty-eight percent functional capacity. But if you stress or overexert the new parts, you could set yourself back by at least two megacycles.”

Sunstreaker’s head lulled to the side, his unfocused optics centering on the white paneling of the medic. His voice was dangerous and rough. “Two megacycles?”

“There are some delicate circuits and specialized tubing around the knee,” the medic started, feeling his fuel pump falter from the look the gladiator was bestowing on him. “If one ruptures, it could have a disruptive effect that could potentially damage the knee joint even further.”

“How long until I’m able to return to the ring?” Sunstreaker asked, his only worry about not being able to perform and slipping down the ranks. If his rating was low, then his odds weren’t good. 

“I will assess you in the morning,” the medic said, suddenly feeling the urge to flee. “If you perform to optimal standards and show no signs of rejection, then you may return at cycle’s end.”

The news was taken better than the medic expected. Sunstreaker offered a curt nod, but didn’t speak. His recovery was up to him. If he tried to push himself, he could do irreparable damage. 

“Understood,” he said through pursed lip components. 

“To help you through your rehabilitation, Grotto has provided you with some entertainment,” the medic said, motioning toward the door.

The femme quietly entered his room, her optics shining a brilliant rose. 

The medic gave her an appreciative optic, taking in her frame and posture, and felt his fuel pump falter in arousal. He gave a curt nod and took his leave, sending a private message to Grotto, asking permission to berth the femme as soon as possible.

Sunstreaker stared at the newcomer. The first thing he noted was she didn’t fidget under his gaze. She held herself with demure grace.

“You’re new,” Sunstreaker said, noting the particular shade perfectly matched her lighter pink and silver frame. 

“I am your personal entertainment while you recover,” she replied, voice soft, yet sultry.

“Grotto sent you to me?” Sunstreaker asked incredulously, highly doubting the gladiatorial host would send such a beautiful acquisition to a violent gladiator. 

“Yes,” she said simply, coming to the side of his berth and gazing down at him with those rosy optics. 

Sunstreaker decided he liked the color. He gaze lingered on the smooth lines and sexy curves, attesting to the definitive femme frame. 

“Why would he do such a thing?” Sunstreaker asked, still suspicious but already feeling the desire building for this particular pleasure slave. 

“He said you would be wary,” she said, grasping his hand, her fingers light and caressing as she inspected the intricate plating of the professional killer. “He mentioned investing a five percent bonus and keeping his best fighter happy.”

“Ah, that,” Sunstreaker said, his optics darkening as he took in the femmes confident movement. She definitely knew how to seduce and entice. The only question was, was she going to be befitting to the task, or was she another overused pleasure bot? 

“But let’s not talk about how I came to be here,” She said, offering a smile that nearly melted Sunstreaker’s plating. Primus, she had some natural beauty. And the confidence in which she composed herself only doubled her attraction. 

“I’m tired of valves that offer me no gratification,” Sunstreaker cut right to the point. If this femme was going to be his, then he wanted something that was going to give him a good frag. Her demeanor only went so far in attracting him. “I want something… fresh. Most of the pleasure bots here have become too loose to offer good stimulation.”

“Of course,” she purred, taking his hand and placing it between her legs. Her interface panel retracted immediately, granting access. Wordlessly she pressed two of his fingers to her valve and guided them inside. “Am I adequate?”

Sunstreaker felt his spike twitch behind his interface panel. His fans kicked on, humming low. No other femme had been so bold. His fingers massaged the already slick passage, feeling the lining give to his ministrations. It wasn’t as loose as the other pleasure bots, but there was still a definite give to the mesh. Her tiny hands easily gripped his wrist, one hand massaging along his forearm while the other coaxed his hand into movement.

“Adequate, yes,” Sunstreaker breathed, the pain behind his interface panel becoming too intense to bear. With a click the cover retracted, giving his spike its much desired freedom. It instantly swelled to full hardness, lubricant shining like jeweled beads along its head. 

The femme gave a small gasp when she took in the size of the spike now standing at perfect attention. Sunstreaker felt his pride double when he heard that noise. That was a noise a mech liked to hear. The sudden, slightly fearful, yet pleased gasp that associated their prowess with their intimate presentation. 

Her body began to rock into his palm, feeling his digits continue their examination as she pushed against his hand, burying the digits further, before sliding back, allowing him to tease the rim. She stared through partially shuttered optics that turned the color of burgeoning dawn. Her vents opened, her fans kicked on high, as she allowed him to explore her femininity. Mouth parted slightly she leaned over his body, her glossa snaking out to massage the base of his spike, before sliding up its length. Languorously she teased the tip before sealing her lips around it and sucking gently. 

Sunstreaker nearly howled. He bucked off the berth, feeling a slight twinge in his knees, but he didn’t care. All that he cared about was having that femme to overload him as many times as she could. 

She released his spike, Sunstreaker groaned in disappointment, but when she spoke, her breath wafted across the sensitive shaft, sending a different kind of tingle throughout his frame. 

“How do you want me?” she asked, then intimately kissed the head of the spike. “My oral cavity?” Between words she alternated between swirling her glossa, “My valve?” and sucking on the beaded transfluid. “My spark?”

Sunstreaker growled, determinate to have the femme screaming his designation.

“Valve,” Sunstreaker commanded, his hand now soaked by her lubricating valve. He reluctantly removed his fingers so she could comply. 

She nodded, climbing onto the berth and situated her valve over his spike. With one hand she grasped the hot metal and with experienced ease of a pleasure bot, impaled herself on the spike. She gasped, finding the thick spike to be quite filling, her valve already twitching in anticipation. It was going to be easy to overload for this mech. Her only concern was how many times should she climax and would the godly mech below her begrudge her for not being able to stop once she got started.

She circled her hips, grinding nodes and causing the first tingles of friction. Seductively she pulled Sunstreaker’s wet hand to her lips, and while staring into his darkened optics, she started to suckle on the digits, cleaning her fluids from his fingers.

Sunstreaker couldn’t take anymore. His face contorted into a mask of arousal and frustration. His voice was forceful when he snapped, “Ride me! Hard!”

Knowing the mech was teetering on the edge of his control, she complied. She started working her hips back and forth, stroking and working his length with her valve. 

“Harder!” Sunstreaker barked, wanting so desperately to pin the femme beneath him and pound her into the berth. But with his knees and shoulder still under medical orders not to be stressed, he was limited on positions. 

Without word she complied, rising up and nearly completely dislodging his spike, before dropping back down, seating him to the hilt. 

“Faster,” Sunstreaker commanded, feeling the building charge start to cackle across his neural net. 

Obligingly she started bouncing faster, her body creaking as her systems were strained to maintain the pace the gladiator wanted. A wire got pinched in her knee from the constant change in angle, but she kept her vocalizer shut. This wasn’t about her pleasure. It was his. And she intended on seeing him fulfilled. 

“Harder! Faster!” Sunstreaker repeated, feeling the glorious rush to completion just on the horizon. 

The femme just couldn’t obtain the proper speed or power Sunstreaker was accustomed to. And like the fleeting sun, the beautiful charge that had been building, started to decline. 

“No, slag it,” Sunstreaker growled, using his good hand to grasp the femme by the waist. His action caused her to halt her action, looking expectantly into his face. 

“I only wish to please you, master,” she breathed, using that sultry tone that had seduced his senses upon their meeting. Now, her tone only enhanced the rage he felt as she contracted her valve, trying to trip his overload, her face and body submissive to her lover and master. 

With a frustrated growl, Sunstreaker flung her sideways, his spike dislodging from the yielding valve. It was all going wrong! Again! She was just a mindless drone, so submissive to him it was sickening. She was only performing her job, wanting to please him. 

She landed beside him on the berth, her optics wide in surprise. She had never been rejected before. Apparently this mech did want something different. Perhaps she had been too forward in her appetent gestures, or her body was inadequate to fulfill his needs. From the gruff commands he issued, she guessed he liked it rough and thoughtless, and she just wasn’t violent enough for his tastes. 

Well, she’ll just have to show him how quickly she can shift personalities to give him what he wanted in a berthmate. She had the highest level of educational downloads on pleasuring all frame types. There were also modifications made to her body, allowing her to assume any role her master demanded of her, mimicking their fantasies. She just had to find the preference that would bring her new master to the perfect overload. She was designed with his pleasure in mind. 

Hoping a more direct approach would be what he desired, she grabbed his neck, pulling him to her and melding their lips together in a searing kiss. Sunstreaker tensed at the motion, survival instinct rearing and demanding he mount a defense, though there was no real threat, other than a frustrated time in the berth. 

Her boldness was the wrong move. Sunstreaker pushed her away, revulsion radiating off his frame in a palpable wave. She looked expectantly into his optics, now registering they were so dark they were almost black. Either he was highly aroused or extremely angry. 

From the nasty curl of his lip, he was livid. 

She opened her mouth to speak when Sunstreaker’s hand darted out, grasping the thin column of her throat and pinning her against the wall next to his berth. 

“Pathetic,” he muttered, feeling her hands caress his body in a supplicating manner. Even pinned to a wall and presented with possible termination, she was still trying to seduce him. 

“What ever your command, I shall perform,” she spoke through static, her optics lovingly creased as she stared into Sunstreaker’s dark countenance. 

Her words and demeanor only enraged him further as he sneered, “You desire to please me?” 

She nodded, hoping she was going to be educated on what her partner wished her to perform.

“Desire,” Sunstreaker offered a critical snort. “That’s a dangerous objective.”

He scooted his body toward the wall until he was flush against the soft pink femme. She didn’t seem perturbed about being trapped between the cold metal wall and the volatile mech. With the berth beneath them, the wall behind her for support, Sunstreaker’s injuries were relieved of the tension associated with partnered interface. He grabbed her thigh, hooking her leg around his waist as he obtruded. Wordless he entered her, feeling her valve tense from the odd angle, the nodes adjusting their frequencies for building a charge. 

The femme placed her hands on his chest, dauting along the rapidly heating metal. Her fingers danced along the surface, caressing the seams and slipping beneath the plating to stroke the sensitive wires of the protoform. 

To Sunstreaker, the added stimulation was like the most potent high grade. Violently he started thrusting, the berth rocking and creaking with the motion. The femme panted harshly through her vents from the rapid pace, feeling her valve give with each stroke. Lubricant flowed freely, soothing the heated friction caused by their rough coupling. 

Her back scraped against the wall, creating a screeching of metal on metal, but she didn’t voice her objection. She knew the mech pounding her into the wall was highly unstable, and if she said or done anything wrong, he would be swift and brutal in his correction. It was best to allow him to take his pleasure, though she could feel the wonderful charge budding from her core.

Primus, the mech knew how to use that deliciously thick spike!

She keened, unable to stop her overload. Her valve grasped the spike as her sensor net blanked with white, her voice rising in crescendo as she rode out the most intense overload of her existence.

The tightening of her valve was all Sunstreaker needed. As soon as the heated passage began to constrict, he grabbed her hip, angling it just right and striking the clustered nodes at the back. Wanting to prolong the charge, he opted for shallow strokes, sinking his spike to the hilt and allowing the sheltering valve to hungrily clench, devouring and savoring his essence.

Sunstreaker grided their interface panels together, his body twitching to the erratic discharges. Fans whirring on high he relaxed, vents heaving to dispel the near boiling temperature of his body. He pushed away from the femme, his spike easily slipping from her valve as he rolled onto his back. 

After a couple of minutes, Sunstreaker said, “Clean me.”

The femme reluctantly moved, feeling that pleasant sensation keeping her valve tingling. Lazily she glanced around the room, searching and finding the cloth and solvent on a stand next to the berth. When she made to get up to retrieve them, Sunstreaker grabbed her arm, his fingers leaving indentations.

“I said to clean me,” he hissed, releasing her arm to grasp her neck, pulling her face down to his body.

She gave a knowing nod, realizing the mech didn’t mean to use solvents, and with delicate flicks of her glossa, she began to lick their mingled fluids from his limp spike. Programming instructed her on the proper, erotic cleaning of a spike, preparing it for further activities, but Sunstreaker’s hand cuffed her sharply on the back of her head.

“Clean,” Sunstreaker growled, his voice low and threatening.

The sound juddered through the femme’s frame, causing a warm coiling in her lower regions. She complied, adopting a more functional swiping motion than sensual massage intended on coaxing a spike to hardness. 

Sunstreaker relaxed, feeling the long, gentle glide of glossa along his spike. It still twitched with aftershocks, causing small drops of transfluid to escape, but the femme was right on task, her glossa quickly flickering over the head. When he felt her glossa start to trace along his interface panel, dipping between the seams and stroking the sensitive circuits, he gasped. He touched her head to gain her attention, and when she looked into his optics, he nodded toward the berth side table.

“Use the cloth and solvent for the rest of me,” he said, noticing the silver stains around her mouth. 

She nodded wordlessly, which she figured out how her lover liked it, and raised from the berth. She collected the solvent and cloths and turned and set to work, massaging his body and buffing the lighter golden plating that covered his protoform. She couldn’t stop the look of approval as she took in his handsome face, broad chest, strong, cabled arms and legs, and the narrow hips which bracketed a luscious, filling spike. 

Primus, he was quite the specimen of masculinity. Unbidden her valve started to lubricate, the nearly transparent bluish tint mixed with his spilled transfluid, stained her thighs a soft opalescent lavender. 

Sunstreaker lay unmoving, allowing the femme to perform her duty. He had to hold back a smile as he felt the flattering, exploratory caress of her hands. He could tell by the way she moved across his body, she was pleased with what she saw. She was most definitely pleased during their interface, as he counted at least three overloads quake her body. 

Totally relaxed he glanced to his femme attendant and felt his engine purr when she stroked along the seam of his chest, her abstergent attention lulling him into a peaceful state of mind.

“Do you wish me to clean your back?” she asked, the once clean cloth now smudged with bodily oils and lubricants.

“No,” Sunstreaker sighed, feeling extremely relaxed. A good long recharge was all he needed. “You may go.”

“My master bade me to remain at your side this evening,” she said, setting down the cleaning supplies and leaned against the edge of the berth. “I am at your command.”

Sunstreaker’s drowsy optics opened wide, in shock. Grotto knew that the gladiator always recharged alone. He didn’t trust anyone to share his berth while he charged. It seemed odd that the oily business mech would make such an order. But then again, this pleasure bot was new. Perhaps he wanted Sunstreaker to enjoy her before being passed along to the other fighters and members of staff? 

Still, something felt…. Off.

She took his moment of silence as a good sign and climbed onto the berth, her EM field grazing across his in a pleasant buzz. 

Sunstreaker’s optics strayed over her body, alighting on the lavender stains between her legs. With an ugsome sneer he said, “Clean yourself.” 

She hastened to obey, sliding off the edge and briskly wiping down her plating, removing the evidence of their coupling. 

“And you can charge on the floor. No one shares my berth.” He added.

She started slightly, her face showing a brief flicker of disappointment before offering a slow nod. She lowered herself to the floor, making sure to show full submission to his demands.

Sunstreaker heard her skitter around on the floor for a moment before her systems powered down into recharge, their low hum filling the room with a soft monotone. He allowed a disgusted sneer to show before cycling down his own systems, though keeping himself at minimum power. 

If the femme made any move against him, he’d be ready. A part of him wished she would attack. Then he could mangle her body and deposit it on Grotto’s doorstep. Sunstreaker slipped into power reserve mode, a nefarious smile on his faceplates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would have to give him an injury that REALLY limits his movement, wouldn’t I? Oh well, I think this chapter turned out well. Didn’t really want to write a whole chapter on Sunny sleeping. So I fast forwarded a bit. Wanted to make him as close to healed as possible, yet still restricted. He’s going to have a couple of revelations in the next chapter or two.
> 
> Please, leave me a note to tell me what you think, even if it’s a line/phrase you liked or something that didn’t track. This isn’t beta’ed, so I may have missed loopholes.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I just wanted to say that I hope everyone can follow along with some of the situations I put these characters through. To be honest, I get rather tired of seeing/reading the same ‘positions’ and interactions, so I try to mix it up a bit and have them doing something a little different than ‘the norm.’

When their internal chronometers signaled the start of a new day, the femme quickly rose and quietly stood at the foot of the berth. Her demure manner sparked a deep need inside of Sunstreaker.

He nodded toward the door, and said, “Bring me some energon, the highest grade you can find.”

She bowed her head, leaving the room and returning a few moments later bearing a cube. Sunstreaker sniffed the heady fumes signaling its potency of medicinal midgrade. Figures. The only thing she’d be able to find in the medical ward was elementally infused with nutrients to aid in the healing of wounds. He sipped on the cube.

With some difficulty he pulled himself into a sitting position, placing his back to the wall that bore the indentation of the femme’s body from their vigorous interface the night before. His shoulder smarted as he maneuvered himself into a comfortable position, extending his legs in front of him, his pedes protruding over the edge of the berth.

He downed the cube in a few drinks, his optics never leaving the patiently waiting femme standing at his berth side. 

When he finished his cube she placed it on the bedside table and asked, “What else do you wish of me?”

She knew it wasn’t wise to question the unstable mech, but her basic programming directed her to inquire her services of her master. She was programmed to perform whatever the mech desired and to submit to his whims without hesitation. She was highly versed in pleasure, and could portray any number of characteristics to complete her master’s fantasy. She just had to figure out exactly what this glorious mech wanted in a berthmate.

Sunstreaker narrowed his optics, taking in the small feminine frame, his processor buzzing with the hazy fuzz that came from a good energizing drink.

“Let’s see, your valve is adequate,” he said causally, his optics raking over her form. There were tinges of pale yellow paint on the inside of her thighs and in his handsized impression on her hip. “Your oral cavity is adequate as well…”

She offered a low bow of her head at the praise. She really wasn’t expecting him to compliment her body. His flattery wouldn’t coerce her to his berth. She was already a willing participant. 

“Show me that beautiful spark of yours. Let’s see if it’s adequate as well.”

She immediately complied, her chest plates splitting to reveal the silver cylinder that house her spark. Shamelessly she opened the chamber, the brilliant surge of golden light bathing the pale yellow gladiator in an eerie, supernatural glow. He radiated like a god. Her breathing function hitched at the sight of him, bathed in her life force.

She approached Sunstreaker, the brilliance of her life gilding him, making him seem even more like a spectral being. Just by gazing upon him she felt her valve lubricate in want. Primus, if he could do that to her without needing her to activate her interface components, what would he do to her when they merged?

She shivered in delightful anticipation, and just a small hint of fear. He was still a very commanding mech with a dangerous temperament and less than empathetic to his partner’s distress.

She crawled onto the berth, and when Sunstreaker made no attempt at opening his own chamber, she tentatively took the initiative. Her fingers traced over his shoulder and down along the seam that separated to reveal his spark chamber, his fans whirling softly in his lithe frame. She stroked down across his abdomen, watching in lustful praise as the cables drew taunt with her exploration. 

Sunstreaker partially shuttered his optics, relishing the feel of the agile fingers as they teased his body, preparing it for the merging of their souls. He gasped as her fingers lightly traced the top of his interface panel before leisurely caressing up the middle of his torso, the tip of her index finger applying just the right amount of pressure to be painfully arousing. 

Sunstreaker smiled, liking how the femme seemed to understand her role as his berthmate. He didn’t want a femme who talked too much or asked too many questions. He wanted someone who took initiative, pushing him to his limits, then surrender when his control broke. 

Her glossa probed along the seam while her fingers slipped beneath his protoform covering to stroke the sensitive wires beneath. Her kisses were slow and loving, feathering, then scorching with fever.

Sunstreaker’s body jerked at the sensation, his spike giving a pouty twitch as it was ignored in favor of the joining of energies. 

Her lips closed over the seam, suckling directly over his spark chamber. With a strangled cry Sunstreaker’s chest split, revealing his tumultuous life force.

She smiled, taking the chance to look into his optics as she was finally rewarded. She felt her breathing function hitch at the dark arousal watching her through slitted optics. She climbed onto his lap, her hands traveling up his arms in abject lustful worship. When she was seated comfortably, ignoring the heat of his interface panel pressing so intimately against her own, she gave Sunstreaker the most sultriest of looks before leaning forward, her lips showing just as much reverence to the silver chamber as she did the protective plating. 

When her lingula traced the intricate patterns of the precious metal, Sunstreaker couldn’t stop the yawp of pleasure. 

Primus. No other pleasure bot did this to him. Most obediently opened their chambers and awaited his ravaging leisure. Here was a femme who knew how to build the excitement. And if the wetness across his interface panel was any indication, she was just as revved as he was. 

His spark chamber opened under her practiced manipulation. Sunstreaker’s spark was not the normal pale blue of a mech. His spark was bright and white, but there was a darkness to it as well. An unseen darkness that tainted his spark and invited her soul to come and sample its delicious offerings.

She drew back, slowly outlining her lip components in a pleased manner, her optics meeting Sunstreaker’s. Her hands weren’t idle as her fingers dipped into the parted chest plates, lightly stroking the underside of the protective plates before ghosting across the outside of his spark chamber. 

Sunstreaker’s spark jolted his body, its light flaring in response. Her golden spark answered, the deep pulse of life nearly rattling her plating from the intense urge to surrender to the will of the mech. 

Their sparks sensed each other, both trying to draw near to the other, like two poles attracting. The brilliant pulse of Sunstreaker’s spark cast her blushed armor in an even paler countenance, though the dusty rose of lust still tinted her optics in such a way it made Sunstreaker’s engine rev. 

His hands grabbed her back. The suddenness and commanding pressure physically alerted her that he was taking charge.

Her control was over. Now she was to submit, and allow her master to take his fill of her body and spirit. She went willingly into his embrace. 

Sunstreaker gradually pulled her toward him, feeling the rising charge across his sensor net as their life forces reached for one another. His plating tingled from the magnetic charge emanating from his partner, her EM field so strong it was intoxicating. 

As soon as the sparks were in close range, they began to pulse, each trying to sync with the other, their energies flaring out and encompassing the surging tide of the other’s desire. The femme hissed, feeling the mech’s overpowering spark burn across her neural net and send strong pulses into her core, his will commanding, dominating, and subjugating her feeble existence. She felt as if she was melting from the inside out, the sensation doubling when she felt the full strength of the masculine spark embrace her own. 

Sunstreaker felt as if his world just shattered. The gentle pulse of life that greeted his own was easily dominated, yielding completely, allowing him to delve into its depths and plunder the delicate spirit. He barely registered her gasping moans as he conquered her soul, sensing their union both through his own spark, and through the overcome flutters of her own. She was overwhelmed, both physically and emotionally by his presence invading her. 

He felt the electric burst of a spark overload rip through his sensornet, the intensity compounded by the feedback loop that consumed him. Distantly, Sunstreaker heard a shout, followed by a high pitched keen, before his sensors overcharged, blinding him to all audio and visual input. 

It was some time later when Sunstreaker was able to online his optics. The room came into fuzzy focus, and a pleasant haze surrounded him. A weak EM field brushing his own alerted him to the femme collapsed against his chest, her weight barely registering to the overly stimulated metal. He shifted, grasping her shoulders and lifted her away from his body, her head lulling for a moment while she regained her senses. 

Her optics flickered on, taking in the mech that held her at arm’s length, his EM field retreating from her, much to her dismay. Both of their chests had resealed themselves after the overload, ensuring their delicate sparks remained protected during their recovery. 

“That was…” Sunstreaker said, pausing as if searching for the right words. “More than adequate.”

She smiled, and boldly brought her hands to his face. Her thumbs traced his jaw and cheek, before she brought their faces together in a kiss that had Sunstreaker heating up all over again. 

Primus, the femme really knew how to get under plating!

Sunstreaker shifted and felt the moisture along his interface panel. She must be so wet. The thought made his spike thicken. The confines of his panel turned very uncomfortable. With a click he released his spike from its housing, feeling it instantly pressurize and stand proudly between their bodies.

The femme gasped, then smiled against his lips, clicking her own panel in readiness for another processor blowing frag. But Sunstreaker broke their kiss, his gaze going to the junction of her legs.

“I think I’ll to have your oral cavity,” he said, his voice husky as he watched the pale lubricant flow freely down her inner thighs. 

Sunstreaker had every intention of making the femme beg for him to take her. And he was going to claim her, as many times as he was able. But his internal chronometer was showing it was nearly time for the medic to come and exam his wounds, and he really didn’t want to be covered in transfluid and lubricant when the medic arrived. So, he opted for the next best thing, her oral cavity. She proved very adept at using her glossa, and he wanted to see the stain of his transfluid marking her lips. Just the thought caused his spike to lubricate.

She nodded, the sound of her panel closing barely audible as she slid sensually down his body, her optics smoldering as the burning dusk. Her glossa flickered, teasing the head of the spike and cleaning the lubricant from its surface.

Sunstreaker watched with darkened optics as she performed a sensual massage on his spike. Her lingula roughly stroked back and forth across the head, before pressing against the underside and undulating down until she reached the base. Her glossa traced the bottom of the spike, little tingles signaling the building charge of sensor nodes as she started the slow meticulous exploration of his length, swirling that very talented glossa around the openly weeping tip. 

Sunstreaker hissed, his head falling back against the wall, pleasure building at a supersonic pace. His spark gave a flutter of disappointment before his processor was flooded with a drowning sensation of hopelessness and emptiness. His breathing function hitched at the sudden rush of unexpected emotion.

The femme gently sucked the tip into her mouth, her glossa teasing the slit that continued to lubricate. She smiled when she heard his gasp, believing her ministrations were having their desired effect. With a last, long pull of the spike tip, she moved forward, pushing him down her throat.

Before Sunstreaker could analyze the disturbing emotions invading his processor, his mind went blank as he felt the femme’s mouth swallow him, her lips seating around the base and creating a vacuum. He vented harshly, unable to take a proper drag of air, his processor stalling from the sensory input from his spike. 

Most pleasure bots, mech and femme alike, would sputter and grate against his spike, the scraping against their intakes causing them to involuntarily gasp and gag. But not this femme. She had no difficulty in taking his larger spike completely into her oral cavity. 

Well, this little modification certainly earned Sunstreaker’s approval. Now if he could only get the desired friction as well as the sense of penetration. 

It was like the femme read his mind. Her glossa massaged the underside of the spike, pressing along the nodes in preparation to eject his charged transfluid. As Sunstreaker’s processor buzzed trying to keep grounded in reality, he grasped her head, more cradling it than directing its action, like with the regular pleasure slaves. Just as he started to feel a sense of normality, consciousness returning back to his addled processor, he felt the most delicious suction deep in her throat. The tip of his spike was bombarded with constricting cables, their tightening creating a nice sucking sensation that sent his processor spinning out of control again. 

For the first time he could ever remember, Sunstreaker whimpered in dizzying abandonment. He felt strutless, his inner workings turning to mush as his spike gave the first twitches of overload. 

The femme sensed the primed charge, and carefully compressed her lips tighter around the base of the spike and engaged the last modification to her frame. 

Sunstreaker yelled, his body jerking off the berth as he felt a firm vibration start from the tip of his spike and travel down the length. The vibration rolled sensually from tip to base, its pace rapid, demanding the release of its victim. Sunstreaker complied, feeling his transfluid empty into her oral cavity, though, as per usual, only a few bursts erupted.

The little voice in the back of his processor chided that was all he was going to expend. 

Pathetic. 

Once again, not reaching full potential. 

Sunstreaker grunted, irritated with that little voice that kept niggling in his processor and disrupting his concentration. He focused on the femme as she continued to drain his spike, gliding up his length to concentrate her attention on the head in an attempt to entice more transfluid. 

She massaged the spike as if congratulating it on such a wonderful overload, her valve clenching with sorrow as the spike fell limp from her lips. She scanned his lower body, searching for any transfluid that had escaped, but found his body immaculate. She sat back on her haunches, waiting for his response to her attention, hoping she had pleased him.

Sunstreaker’s face morphed into one of confusion as he felt a sense of being cheated. Certainly the femme had performed admirably, and he had enjoyed the overload but still something felt wrong. Something that was missing and just beyond reach, though its manner was starting to be uncovered, the veil lifting slowly in revelation. He just couldn’t piece together what was missing. Yet.

“Are you pleased?” the femme asked timidly, her face alight with adulation.

Sunstreaker offered a noncommittal noise, his optics raking over her poised form. She was on hands and knees, her frame glistening with condensation, no doubt caused by her own unanswered lust. Her optics was the burnished shade of sunset that Sunstreaker found so pleasing. Her lips were tainted silver, her glossa reluctant to trace around the edges and remove his mark from her body.

Though she presented a very alluring picture, most mechs would be pushing her to the berth and claiming her, but  
Sunstreaker suddenly felt disinterested in her. It was like she was exactly what he wanted, needed, but yet somehow… not. He couldn’t explain it. Pit, he barely identified its existence, let alone give it a suitable label. 

Her expectant look reminded him that he hadn’t answered her properly and with a slow exvent he nodded, “Yes, I am pleased.”

That little voice in his head snorted in contempt. He was temporarily sated in body. Nothing more. 

There was a beep at the door, signaling a visitor. Before Sunstreaker could grant access, the medic walked in, the door hissing closed behind him. He took in the state of his patient, and gave a soft harrumph.

Sunstreaker was leaning against the wall, his spike limply cradled in his lap, his optics half shuttered, his fans humming. The femme was kneeling on the berth, both thighs so heavily coated in lubricant, it was difficult to tell their original color. 

The medic felt his core temp rise, his engine gave a throaty growl, but he quelled his lust. He had already scheduled some time with the femme when Sunstreaker was finished with her. He could wait patiently for his turn. But Primus, seeing her displayed in such wanton fashion really sent his engine to racing. He ignored the femme as he went to Sunstreaker, diagnostic spanner held in his servos. 

“I would ask how you are feeling, but I can assume the answer,” he quipped, plugging into the access port along Sunstreaker’s shoulder. 

“My strength improves,” Sunstreaker said, his lip curling in a faint sneer as he heard the medic’s fans whirl on high. His sneer turned into a lecherous grin as he asked, “And how are you feeling? Running a little warm?”

The medic gave a slight start at the mention of his obvious arousal. He tried to shut the fans off, but their ingrain protocol to keep his frame from overheating couldn’t be overrode. Primus, he could detect the aroma of her arousal. It practically hung like a mist in the room, thick and heady. His engine gave another unwanted little rev, barely noticeable. 

“I’m fine,” the medic said through pursed lip components, though his optics strayed on the femme sitting back on her haunches, watching their interaction. 

“She is quite beautiful,” Sunstreaker said lowly, watching the medic’s reaction. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Yes, she is,” the medic said a little breathlessly. He tore his optics away, determined to perform his duty. 

“Grotto did well in purchasing her,” Sunstreaker said causally, noting the pitch of the medic’s fans as they went a little faster. He had heard the lusty rev of the medic’s engines. The sound sent a thrill through Sunstreaker’s circuits.

The medic only nodded, his optics boring into the screen on the datapad with so much intensity that Sunstreaker thought it would explode. He missed the wicked gleam to the gladiator’s optics.

“Integrity scans show optimal healing and complete system compatibility,” the medic said in a loud voice, obviously trying to keep himself focused. “Tensile strength is at ninety-two percent with a mobility ratio of eighty-five.”

“Is that good?” Sunstreaker asked, temporarily halting in his teasing of the medical officer. His health was more important that getting the medic flustered. 

“Very,” the medic confirmed, withdrawing the lead and attaching it to Sunstreaker’s left knee. He slipped another cable from the datapad and hooked it into the access port on the right. “If you don’t stress your injuries, you could return to the games within a few cycles.”

Sunstreaker immediately perked up. He hated being confined to the berth. There was only two things to do, recharge and interface. Though he enjoyed both, they were tiresome after awhile. His impishness returned with his good humor.

“I can still interface?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“I believe your injuries haven’t prevented you thus far,” the medic drawled in exasperation.

“But if I wanted to take her,” Sunstreaker nodded toward the quiet femme. He waited until the medic’s optics darted to her before adding, “Just like she is, on hands and knees.”

The medic gave a low whine, his processor providing him with unwanted images. His engine gave another traitorous growl, louder this time.

Sunstreaker pressed on, his delight making his face contort in a twisted grimace. 

“Taking my spike,” he said softly, knowing he had the medic under a spell. “Screaming in pleasure.”

The medic gave a shudder that traveled all over his body. His diagnostics were forgotten. He stared at the pink femme, who purred, shifting her legs under her body, displaying the tint of her sexuality. She slowly slid her glossa around her lips, removing the silver stain and swallowing with a slow, pleased purr. 

A low growl emanated from deep inside the medic’s chassis.

“So, would I be able to take her in such a fashion?” Sunstreaker asked, his voice snapping the medic out of his stupor. “Or would I overtax the new joints?”

The medic’s optics went to the datapad, which displayed the prognosis. “Yes, you would be able to perform as such,” he said, his voice nearly squeaking as he fought to regain control of his senses. “Though I suggest limiting the amount of time in such a compromising position. No need to overdo it. You’re still healing.”

“What are the specific restrictions?” Sunstreaker asked, not really caring but wanting to see how far he could push the medic. It was fun watching him squirm. When the medic’s optics returned to his datapad to recite the quality of the wounds thus far, Sunstreaker looked to the femme and gave a nod toward his spike. Without a word she scooted closer, lowering her mouth to the limp spike and performing the erotic massage to bring it to hardness.

“Both knees show extensive nanite activity that has healed ninety-six percent and integrated the new components to…to…” the medic looked up to check on the attention of his audience, and felt his breathing function falter. 

The femme was trailing her glossa along the gladiator’s spike, tickling the slit, then the grooves, tracing the winding pattern along his length. It twitched as it was slowly aroused from its temporary slumber. 

“Primus,” the medic groaned. His voice went from low to high as he watched the femme dart her glossa across the awakening tip, flickering the head rapidly, before changing to a shallow, sucking kiss that rewarded her attention with a pearl of lubricant. 

Sunstreaker smugly watched the medic’s reaction, knowing that it was quite the spectacle. Not only did his spike get attention, but with the femme currently coaxing him erect, it was undoubtedly very erotic. He guessed the medics spike was pressing against its housing, demanding to be released. The pain must be unbearable.

Unable to control himself the medic started to pant, optics glued to the femme as she drew the tumid tip into her oral cavity. His hand strayed to his interface panel, the heat roiling off it in waves. Primus, he was so revved up, but he knew better than to try anything. It wasn’t wise to engage in any sexual activity with the pleasure bots while they were occupied with the gladiators. If the gladiators felt you were intruding on their conquest, they would be fearful and vicious in their retribution. 

“You want her, don’t you?” Sunstreaker asked in a soft, lazy draw, feeling his spike hardening with the femme’s expert touch. 

“Yes,” the medic hissed without thought. 

“You have already spoken to Grotto about interfacing with her,” Sunstreaker said more of a statement than a question. He had noted the medic’s interest as soon as she had walked in the door.

“Yes,” the medic repeated, his hand rubbing the scalding metal of his interface panel. 

“Has he granted your request?” Sunstreaker asked nonchalantly, his hand teasing along her side before slipping between her legs, his fingers easily accessing the abundant wetness. She obediently opened her legs, granting unlimited admission.

As the medic watched Sunstreaker’s hand, his spike erupted from its housing. He hissed, hastily trying to cover himself. His voice was strained as he answered.

“Grotto wants her after you, then when he is sated, it is my turn with her,” the medic ground out hoarsely. The wet sounds of Sunstreaker’s fingers working her valve went straight to his spike. It bobbed, resisting his efforts to return it to its housing, silver transfluid crying from the tip. 

Sunstreaker thought for a moment, considering his options. The medic had done a fantastic job of replacing his knees and performing augmentations that the gladiator had been putting off for some time due to the length of time it would take to recover. The surgery had went well and his recuperating time had been relatively short, granted he’d been sedated for the majority of it. But still, the medic had done an excellent job, and had kept the gladiator safe during his recovery. It seemed only fair he should be rewarded, and Sunstreaker really wanted to watch the normally skittish medic as he overloaded. 

“As an added bonus for your services, you may share her with me,” Sunstreaker said, pleased when the medic gave a frightened, yet hopeful start. 

Sunstreaker pulled the forgotten leads from the diagnostic ports on his knees and maneuvered himself flat on the berth. He shifted on his back to get comfortable, the femme kneeling beside him with watchful intent. When he was situated, his hand brushed her leg in an unspoken command. Silently she made to swing her leg over his hip, but he grabbed her knee in prevention.

“Turn around,” he commanded. 

She did as she was told, turning to face the direction of his pedes. His hand slipped between her legs, giving a gentle tug to her inner thigh, indicating his instructions. She complied, pulling the leg across him, straddling his midsection. 

Sunstreaker could see the lubricant drip from her valve onto his torso. She pressed herself forward, intending on giving him quite the show. Her valve started at the base of his spike and stroked down the length in an intimate kiss before allowing it to rise at full attention. Expertly she rose to greet her lover, the tip barely brushing her entrance before she lowered herself on the thick spike. She gasped from the fullness pressing against her inner walls and waited until he placed his hands on her hips, allowing him to guide her actions.

When he was fully seated, Sunstreaker looked to the medic, who had been openly stroking his spike and said, “Kneel on the berth in front of her.”

The medic didn’t need telling twice. He scrambled onto the berth, his optics wide with lust as he took in the femme impaled on the gladiator. Her optics were dark in arousal, her lip components parted slightly from pleasure. He maneuvered himself on the berth, trying not to anger the gladiator who was so generous to share the pleasure bot with him. He barely squared himself when the femme leaned forward, engulfing his length in her mouth. He howled at the sudden warmth encasing his agonizing spike. His hands grasped her head for leverage as she began to move.

Sunstreaker hissed, his hips thrusting into the tight heat as she rocked forward. He kept his hands on her hips, allowing her the rare opportunity to control their pace. He kept his optics locked onto the face of the medic, who was shuddering under the femme’s attention, his frame racked with tremors. A steady flow of adjectives fell from his parted lips, interspersed with pleasurable gasps and groans. His optics randomly flared white to dark, the shutters fluttering in perfect harmony with his building charge.

Sunstreaker felt his spike stir at the sight and sounds. The femme’s valve clenched, signally an overload as she rocked backward, gyrating her hips so the head of the spike grated across her recessed nodes. He could hear the wet symphony of their combined bodies moving in tandem. Her talented mouth, tight valve, and lusty purrs as the two mechs claimed her body. A thrill shot through him, straight down his spinal strut and into his spike.

The spike’s charge triggered another overload in the femme and with a high pitched keen, she pulled the medic’s spike down her throat, applying a rough suction. A low vibration was all the medic needed, and with a shout he went rigid, his transfluid jetting fiercely into her mouth. She was unable to swallow all of the transfluid, the sheer volume flooding her mouth, painting her chin, and soaking the berth and Sunstreaker. A few inarticulate words escaped the medic as he rode out his overload before his body went limp. He collapsed on his side, his optics dark as his systems reset. 

Sunstreaker gazed upon the lax face and felt something inside him stir. That was how an overload should be. That was how a mech was supposed to react to such an intense, intimate eruption. His body needing to reboot as his essence spilled, bathing his partner and staining their body possessively. 

The femme glanced over her shoulder, her optics were darkened to iron as she made optic contact with Sunstreaker, her hips rocking and grinding the length against her charged nodes. The spilled transfluid was displayed on her face like a badge of honor before she allowed her glossa to tentatively swipe the fluid away. 

Sunstreaker wanted that. Needed it. That moment of perfect completion, draining him body and soul. If the femme could do that to the inferior medic, then surely she would be able to fulfill his similar needs. He grasped her hips, determined to have the same processor blowing overload as his counterpart. 

He pumped frantically, his hips rising off the berth in his exuberance. The femme leaned forward, bracing herself on his legs, mindful of his still tender wounds and lost herself to the sensation of having the mech to pound her into euphoria. Her voice rose and fell as the sensors lining her valve were charged, all signaling their impending release. With a shattering cry she overloaded, her valve spiraling tightly trying to hold the spike into place for extended fulfillment. Spasms shook her body, forcing her hips to lock down and forward, further impaling the spike and consuming it with sensuous heat.

Sunstreaker grunted, feeling the vice like grip on his spike and with all the strength he could muster, he thrust as hard as he could. The deeper penetration tipped both over the edge, the femme screaming in another release as her body vibrated from the intensity overpowering her sensor net. 

Sunstreaker circled his hips, centering his spike on the recessed, yet highly charged nodes. The energy cackled, the charge released as her valve lubricated heavily. The ravenous pull of contractions milked his spike and drew the transfluid to the highly charged nodes, giving the femme another juddering overload. Sunstreaker’s spike jerked as the transfluid traveled its length and coated the valve lining. His vision blanked white, a static like fuzz filling his audios as he rode out the sensations kneading his body.

The femme collapsed across Sunstreaker’s legs, her forehead resting on his ankles. Her vents sucked air in a wheezing manner as she tried to regain her senses. Her valve twitched in aftershocks. 

Sunstreaker’s vision returned with the sight of his lifeless spike  
being drawn further inside her body as her inner walls contracted in a loving embrace. She made to move when Sunstreaker placed his shaky hands on top of her hips, halting her movement.

“Stay,” he commanded, his voice rough. 

She instantly relaxed on top of him, languidly allowing the charge to dissipate, leaving behind a pleasant buzz that rarely graced her body. She was built to pleasure others, which meant her own release was rarely considered. When she was granted with such a gift, she relished every astrosecond of it, for she never knew when it would happen again. Though admittedly, she had overloaded every time with the mech currently buried inside her. 

Sunstreaker stared at their joined bodies, feeling her EM field dance and mingle with his in an agreeable way, but still that little voice chided inside his head.

Still settled for second best. The femme experienced the ultimate satisfaction, many times. Even the medic found completion. Yet Sunstreaker was condemned to minimalistic overloads that left him sated, yet conscious. His reservoir of transfluid felt bursting but never emptied itself completely. It was very disappointing. 

His musing was interrupted when the medic stirred, one optic flickering on, barely focused. 

“I think perhaps another cycle of rehabilitation is in order,” Sunstreaker said, feeling the femme shift as she slipped into recharge.

The medic could only give an incoherent sound before offlining again. 

Sunstreaker sighed, staring at the union of their bodies and wondering why he was so unfulfilled.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got away with me. I just didn’t know where to stop and there was some things I wanted to mention, foreshadowing to something later, and I just couldn’t seem to stop at the right place.

Sunstreaker made slow progress to his quarters, the pink femme following behind at a sedate pace. She had offered to assist him, but he had refused with a quick backhand. He didn’t need a femme simpering after him, even when his knees threatened to buckle. But with the exercise of walking to his quarters, they were adapting quickly, the new components shifting and burning slightly as they were fully ingrained into his body. By the time he reached his quarters, he was walking with a slight limp and had a pleased bounce to his stride. He palmed his door open, stepping across the threshold and taking a deep inhale, noting the slaves had cleaned his quarters while he was away. Sunstreaker loved the scent of whatever solvent they used, and the polish they used on the berth sometimes made him heady. 

The femme went to the berth side cabinet and poured some energon into a crystal glass. When she turned to present it to Sunstreaker, she let out a bark of surprise finding him standing directly behind her. 

She hadn’t hear him approach.

Knowing he needed the extra energy, and suddenly finding the need to test his knew joints, Sunstreaker downed his drink before setting the glass on the stand, where it rang like a tinkling bell. His hands gripped her arms, pushing her toward the wall. She collided painfully, her body making a dull clang, but she didn’t protest. The only sound she made was the clicking of her valve cover in invitation.

Wordlessly he gripped her aft, giving a hard squeeze before pulling up first one, then the other leg, hooking them over his arms. He wrest her legs up to where her knees were level with his shoulders.

Sunstreaker’s spike erupted in anticipation, overshadowing the pain from his still healing shoulder as he supported the femme against the wall. The femme gasped, feeling her valve intimately kiss the tip of his spike. He growled low in his chassis circling his hips to caress the outside of the rim. She purred against him, whimpering as he continued his lazy exploration, her valve lubricating so heavily it drenched his spike. Sunstreaker placed his palms against the wall, lowering them to allow his spike to impale the panting femme with deliberate slowness, both to test his shoulder and to allow the femme to feel the powerful authority of the one claiming her.

She mewled when he penetrated her, her valve spiraling in contractions, welcoming the spike into its wet domain. With a lusty keen she overloaded, her valve a spastic heat that gripped Sunstreaker’s spike so hard, he nearly emptied himself. But he was determined to hold off. He had to push his body, test its boundaries, and vigorous interfacing was preferable to going to the sparring range and beating the mediocre fighters who trained for the arena. When he felt her spasms subside Sunstreaker began to move his hips in a steady pace. He pivoted, driving straight up into her body, his aggression nearly splitting her. 

Her voice rose in pitch, static cutting across her optics as she basked in the mech’s attentions. Every node in her valve was singing his praises as they were vigorously stimulated and the ensuing overload causing her to voice to falter.

Sunstreaker grimaced, feeling a grinding in both knees. The pain was tolerable, easily overlooked. It only served as a reminder of his still healing body. He was grateful it wasn’t screaming in enraged protest. He shifted his arms, hitching the femme’s legs higher and felt the rumbling churn in his lower regions. His transfluid reserve bubbled inside, yearning for the perfect moment of release. 

The change in angle sent the femme yawping, her fingers scrambling for purchase along the broad shoulders. 

Sunstreaker felt invigorated. The femme’s voice was a siren’s song to his audios, going straight to his spark and traveled to his spike. 

Her valve gave under the force of his thrusts, the lining stretching in accommodation. She tipped her head back, optics offline, lip components working to form inarticulate words. She was secretly glad she was with this handsome fighter. His every touch was electric fire, his mere presence enough to send her tripping into oblivion. 

Sunstreaker felt the valve let go, the tight confine disappearing into a more relaxed state. He hissed, propelling himself forward, frantically hoping to feel the delicious sensation of her tight heat. But the desired tautness was no longer present. 

Sunstreaker snarled, foiled again. With a frustrated shout, he retracted his chest plates, his spark erupting like a super nova. So caught up in the continual overloading bliss, the femme didn’t notice his introduction. When she didn’t move to comply, Sunstreaker thrust forward, his spike pinning her valve into place. She let out a mewl of pleasure, the signals fighting for dominance in her processor making her unfocused to her surroundings.

“Spark!” Sunstreaker screamed in her audio, his spike buried to the hilt and threatening to pierce the femme to the wall. “Now!”

Though lost in her own blissfully ignorant processor, her ingrain protocols took control. Her chest plates parted, revealing her wildly spinning spark, its golden light bathing the glorious mech filling her being. Small arcs of light winked from the charged casing, the energy like birthing novas. 

Sunstreaker thrust rapidly, feeling the elusive charge starting to creep back into his body. The crackling of their energy fields was adding to the sensation of finally rising to the zenith of his desire. Little tingles of electricity danced across parted chest plates, striking and retreating, each trying to draw the other to them in completion. 

Heat built up in Sunstreaker’s body causing condensation to bead along his plating. The femme emitted a strangled cry, her valve tightening momentarily as she overloaded again. Sunstreaker concentrated on the sudden tightness and buried himself to the hilt, the contractions drawing his transfluid from his body. As he felt the rush of transfluid, he slammed their chests together, completing the connection. 

Sunstreaker screamed a jumbled sentence, feeling his charge instantly evaporate, his spark consuming the soft golden light of the femme’s spark. Her body went rigid in his arms for a long klik before she slumped, unconscious against him. 

“Slag it!” Sunstreaker swore violently, nudging the femme in an attempt to rouse her. 

When she showed no signs of returning to consciousness, he released his hold, dropping her to the floor. She sprawled wordlessly, her vents heaving and fans whirling so high their pitch was almost painful. Sunstreaker leaned against the wall, feeling his legs shake. After a minute his quakes subsided, the pleasant tingle kissing his neural net goodbye before dispersing. He slammed his fist into the wall, denting the metal. He looked to the femme, his lip curled in distaste. Curiously he prodded the femme’s legs, opening them to give him a view of her valve. 

On the outside, her pleasure port looked satisfactory, but Sunstreaker felt his ire rise like lava. There was now a definite looseness to the lining. The wonderful tightness that had greeted him before was now gone, replaced with the same laxity that marked her as just another pleasure bot, overused and overstretched. 

Her lack of taut dexterity had robbed him of reaching his potential. When a mech experiences a total overload, his sensor net goes blank as his systems shut down. The overload was supposed to trip a sequence that sent him into shut down, giving his body time to reconfigure and disperse the charge before rebooting.

That’s what was missing. That’s what was needed. 

And apparently Sunstreaker wasn’t going to find such fulfillment with any of the pleasure bots. 

He gazed at her heavily lubricated valve, begrudging the copious amount of lavender fluid, his spark burning as he found no trace of transfluid on her body. 

Sunstreaker looked apathetically down at the femme. Her body still twitched occasionally from post-overload tremors, the plates along her chest slow to reconfigure. Sunstreaker stared at her spark chamber until the plates closed, once again hiding the delicate cylinder that contained their life force. He gave her frame an appraised optic, taking in the sleek form, well balanced proportions, small oval face and rare rosy optics that certainly captured his interest. 

She wasn’t a bad looking femme. Too bad she would never be able to spark. All pleasure models had their reproductive chambers removed, preventing them from sparking. It wasn’t good business if your femme population kept taking time off to nurture a new spark, and femmes were notorious for being unstable during their carrying period. Some even attacking other femmes who drew too close and were perceived as a threat. A carrying femme was very dangerous.

Perhaps that was the answer. He didn’t want a femme who couldn’t grant him a sparkling. His spark gave a sour flip, instantly dashing that thought. No, it was something else. A sparkling wasn’t the answer.

But what?

If it wasn’t the underlying need to spark up a femme, then what was it?

He searched his memory files for the any clue as to what he needed, his attention focused to task as he went to his berth, staring at its immaculate surface. 

The femme was stirring, her head lulling and moans escaping as she rebooted, her optics flickering She felt heavy, leaden. She noted the pale yellow outline of the mech who just gave her the best overload of her life, standing with his back to her, facing his berth.

“You’re a gift from Primus,” she breathed lazily, her optics slightly unfocused.

Sunstreaker offered a snort through his vents. He knew he was gifted. The femme was offering empty flattery, just like all the other pleasure bots. It was in their programming to praise their masters after interface, stoking their egos and polishing their pride. It was hollow really. Sunstreaker felt no such inclination for their empty words. He knew how good he was and how it was supposed to be. The problem was, where did it start to go wrong? 

He settled on his berth, his spike at ease, lying peacefully against his thigh. He stared at the complicated shaft, optics tracing the lines that indicated grooves and exposed sensors when pressurized. 

The femme shakily gained her pedes, her legs sore from the odd angle in which they were held and the overtaxed exertion used on her valve. Her motion attracted Sunstreaker’s attention. He gazed at her, as if just seeing her for the first time, taking in her posture, curves, paint scheme, his optics alighting on the floor.

“Clean the mess and go,” he said, staring at the generous pool of lubricant under her. 

She nodded, finding a fresh supply of cleaning cloths on the maintenance shelf and began wiping up her fluidic essence, a part of her wondering why there was no mottling of silver transfluid with her lavender lubricant. When she finished with the floor she went to Sunstreaker, her eyes on his limp spike, still sticky from their interface. She made to lick it clean, as his normal want, but his hand slapped her away.

“Hand me a cloth,” he ordered, holding out his hand, his optics still focused as he searched through the vast amounts of data he possessed on the most recent interfaces. If he was to find the exact moment when his transfluid stopped overflowing valves, then he could scour the memory and hopefully, find the cause for all his disappointing overloads. He grabbed the cloth hastily from her hand and started to clean his spike.

He jerked his chin toward the door in dismissal, “Go.” 

She gave a disappointed look, then bowed respectively, going to the door. Sunstreaker thought he saw a flicker of sadness or despair in her optics. Or was it disappointment? After such a tremendous overload, she probably hoped to stay with the virulent mech. Perhaps after having spark merged twice in such a short amount of time, she started to harbor feelings towards him. It wasn’t uncommon. Some may even mistake it for love.

Sunstreaker held no such illusions. He loved no one. No one met his standards, and if he did fall in love, it most certainly would be with a slave who had enough lovers to populate a major metropolis. 

His spark gave a mournful pang, causing his breathing function to hitch, but he passed the incident off as post coital fluxes. Many times after vigorous interfacing, his spark would pulse erratically. Sunstreaker chalked it up to experiencing insufficient overloads that left him wanting. But each time, that sense of loss and emptiness would slip into his processor, giving strength to the little voice that liked to taunt him as he neared his peak. 

He sat on his berth, cleaning his spike and replaying the various interfaces he had participated in. The files flew by at an astronomical speed, each one easily identified as not having reached full climatic potential. A visual account of every mech and femme who had attended to his needs flitted across his processor, cataloging a long list of disappointing encounters. 

Had he really been deficient for so long? He closed his interface panel, staring at the seams as if the answer was engraved along the surface. 

With a frustrated growl he tossed the cloth and rose from his berth to pace his quarters, deep in thought. He scanned through his memories, scrolling through the seemingly endless list of sexual conquests, a smile quirked his lips as the sheer volume. Of course they were all pleasure bots, Grotto providing a nice assortment to keep his employees happy, but they still counted. 

He had all their various valves and oral cavities. They always performed to exceptional standards, but was else could they do? They all received complicated downloads on how to pleasure every frame, and all were susceptible to their master’s commands. They would do anything and everything asked of them. Without question, without hesitation. Their purpose in life was to bring fulfillment and physical joy to those who commanded them. They knew no other alternative. 

Perhaps that was the problem, Sunstreaker mused, plopping in the only chair in the room. The pleasure bots were all 'too' willing. They were too well trained, their actions now more instinct than actual thought to overload. And since most pleasure bots were exclusively used by owners and their guests, some of the older pleasure models had seen their fair share of berth room activities. 

Sunstreaker commented to Grotto on several occasions that his femmes were in need of valve refittings. The tightness and heat was what made the interface so fun, but if the valve was too loose, sometimes the feeling of another spike working in tandem with your own was required. And when the valve clenched around both, adding to the friction, it was pure bliss. 

But a part of Sunstreaker felt cheated during that encounter. At first he assumed he was inadequate to fulfill the femme, then realized the absurdity in the thought. Then his hostility turned toward those who would offer him release. 

Sunstreaker had mutilated the mech who had shared a femme with him. In a moment of blind sexual rage, he’d torn the mech’s spike from his body, heedless of the screaming, twitching mech that lay bleeding on the floor, and proceeded to bury the torn spike in the femme, cursing at the inadequacies of the pleasure bots. When she tried to escape from the assault, Sunstreaker had pinned her into place and sought his release amidst her screams and defiance. 

Both pleasure bots had required repairs and a long recovery period, but Sunstreaker merely presented Grotto with a hefty credit, and the gladiatorial boss had overlooked the transgression against two of his employees. They were sold shortly after their complete rehabilitation. 

Sunstreaker thought back to that encounter, remembering the genuine desperation in the femme’s optics as she tried to escape. Her body writhed in a most pleasant way, and the noises she made, rising and falling in perfect tandem to his thrusts. Intoxicating.

Warmth erupted behind his interface panel. Sunstreaker allowed a small smirk to grace his features as his hand probed along the edges, feeling the panel heat at an alarming rate. It had been a very long time since 'those' feelings were invoked. Pondering, he rifled through his memory files, bringing up the images of the femme as she fought and screamed beneath him, no longer the compliant, mindless drone that only sought his satisfaction. 

Sunstreaker replayed the encounter, and felt his spike throb in all consuming need as phantom touches assaulted his interface array. 

Perhaps it wasn’t the compliant, obedient pleasure slave that his body so desired. He had felt the most virulent when he had dominated his partner, taking his fill and watching as they fought against his superior strength, and overwhelming mech-hood. The pleasure bot had been helpless, and had resisted all of his advances, but the overload that followed had been intense. Not processor-blowing, complete shut down intense, but still, strong enough to leave him gasping and twitching for some time after. But still, there was something that didn’t sit right. Something his processor couldn’t identify.

Maybe supplication wasn’t desired? Maybe it was the resistance that was so intoxicating? Perhaps not all desires were fulfilled when one had a willing, generous partner? 

Suddenly, Sunstreaker’s spike erupted from its housing, pressurizing so quickly it was painful. He grunted at the sudden exposure, his fingers grasping the convoluted length, more out of annoyance than encouragement, but quickly withdrew. His spike was exceedingly hot to the touch, nearly scalding in its arousal. 

Yes. That had to be the answer. These overused pleasure bots were too willing, their bodies so used to the invasions of so many others, that there was no real pleasure in their bodies. What Sunstreaker wanted was something new, fresh, unsoiled. An untried body just ripe and waiting for his taking. Well, finding an untried femme was nearly impossible, but Sunstreaker would settle for someone with less miles on their berth. Who didn’t have berth marks indented across their backs. Preferably someone NOT in the pleasure trade. 

Just the thought of the faceless conquest made his spike lubricate, thick drops rolled teasingly over the nodes, twisting along the patterned seams of their origin. He hissed, finding the thin plating that made up the spike to be surprisingly sensitive to the sensation. He had never had such a reaction before. The thought of what that highly sensitive conduit could do when sheathed in the grasping heat of a newly introduced valve, sent shivers across Sunstreaker’s neural net. 

His spike gave a deep, resonating throb in answer, adding its vote to the equation. Sunstreaker quickly commed Grotto, demanding a femme immediately, and cut the connection to keep the gruff mech’s voice from ruining the delicious tremors that were building in his frame. His spark was singing like a seductress, trying to lure the object of its desire closer for claiming. 

A minute later a slave entered his quarters without invitation, her optics instantly registering the mechs obvious need for interface. She was barely into the room before Sunstreaker was out of his chair. Two long strides and he was in front of her, optics smoldering a blazing white. 

She retracted her valve cover, sidestepping to brace herself against the wall. Sunstreaker had taken her many times in such a fashion, but this time he offered a reproachful growl, his hand landing with a vice like pinch at her shoulder. Roughly he turned her around, shoving her to the floor. She anchored herself on hands and knees, bracing for penetration, but wasn’t expecting the hand to whip across the back of her helm. She cried out, her equilibrium rolling wildly in an attempt to compensate, and felt his hand shove between her shoulders. His hand was hard and commanding, pressing his weight through his palm to keep the femme motionless until he was sated. 

Her arms folded under her, unable to withstand the pressure, her chest slamming into the cool metal of the floor. She cried out, twisting her shoulders in an attempt to dislodge his crushing weight, but his strength was too much. Her lighter armor coverings dented across her chassis, unable to withstand the concentrated burden now bearing down at such an odd angle. A whimper escaped as he entered her. 

Sunstreaker hissed through clenched jaws, feeling the cool lubricated valve accept him without objection. His desire hit new levels when the femme started to writhe and cry, her voice muffled by the floor. The soft lining of her valve constricted against him, pulling a deep resonating growl from his very soul. He knew how sensitive the linings of valves were, and if his spike was so hot it was difficult for him to touch; he could just imagine the sensation the femme was feeling. The thought brought a surge of pride and power with it. 

The fingers of his right servo splayed, providing the dual task of supporting his weight and keeping her immobile, the thin metal bowing under his assault. His left grasped her hip, jerking her smaller frame up to greet him as he started to thrust. She bucked beneath him, shouts and whimpers escaping as the burning spike invaded her body. 

Sunstreaker groaned in pleasure. This is exactly what he needed, though there was still that constant, niggling feeling in the back of his processor that all was as it could be. It could be better. It could be world shattering and processor melting, but at this moment, with this femme, the best wasn’t coming to fruition. He was once again settling for second best. A lesser form of satisfaction. A second rate partner that wasn’t allowing him to reach his full potential. Who wasn’t allowing him the opportunity to fulfill his needs and in turn, give them the utmost satisfaction of knowing they had just been berthed by the best. 

His attention was drawn from his thoughts as the femme began to openly cry, the heat from his spike burning her very core. Her body went lax, knowing she was powerless to stop his consuming presence and submitted completely to him. 

Growling in frustration, Sunstreaker gripped her hip hard enough to leave dents, and yanked her upwards, rebuking her defiance and forcing her to meet his thrusts. A small scream quickly drown itself out of existence as Sunstreaker continued to thrust, oblivious to her opposition. His pace was furious and violent, his hand losing its purchase more than once as he pounded into the valve, his venting harsh as he struggled to obtain climax. 

Her body slumped to the floor in strutless surrender. Grunting oaths, Sunstreaker pulled her hips flush against him, bending forward over her body and nearly folding her in half. Her spinal strut creaked in protest to the treatment, but any form of verbal outcry was smothered by the floor. The action changed the angle, causing her valve to give an appreciative clench, though the charge refused to build because of the near-boiling heat assaulting them. 

Sunstreaker wrapped his arm around her waist, molding her against him, his hips vigorously colliding with hers, paint transferring between their bodies in a ghastly mosaic. The angle made it impossible to completely withdraw from her body, so Sunstreaker opted for a more concentrated, shallow thrust.

The strain of holding his partner and the building pleasure caused his thighs to vibrate with tension. He wouldn’t be able to hold out for long. 

The shallow thrusts sent tingles down the length of his spike, adding to the friction of their bodies. A tiny whimper floated to his audios, but instead of feeling compassion for the suffering he felt invigorated. Sunstreaker adjusted his grip on the femme’s waist, his knees sliding further apart for better leverage as he felt his spike twitch in the first signs of release. 

With a new sense of urgency he rocked back on his haunches, withdrawing completely before pitching forward, burying his spike to the hilt. The valve contracted at the intense, deep penetration, giving just enough stimuli to send him howling in release. Sunstreaker’s back went rigid as he fully seated himself, his overload ripped across his sensornet, blacking out his visual relays for a moment as his spike erupted, transfluid bursting free and coating the valve. As soon as his transfluid was spilled, the femme let loose a long, piercing wail.

Sunstreaker didn’t care about the physical state of his partner. He slumped motionless across her back, his vents opening to allow his fans to cool his system. It had been a long time since he felt such an intense overload, though a part of him taunted that the overload was far from spectacular. There was great potential still waiting to be released.

The only thing that kept him from reaching his true peak was still missing, and with a lazy groan, the gladiator knew it was only just out of reach, begging to be found. The only task now was summoning up the energy to find and claim it.

He was brought out of his reverie by the small frame beneath him shifting, trying to dislodge him. He grunted, pushing her aft away from him. She muffled a cry, curling on her side.

The action dislodged his spike and presented the now inflamed valve for his inspection. With a satisfied smirk he saw bluish energon mingle with silvery transfluid trickle down her thigh to the floor. His finger traced the rim of the valve, creating designs in the mingled fluids, before plunging his finger past the damaged rim. The femme moaned in pain, but Sunstreaker didn’t notice or care. He hissed as the inside of the valve slowly contracted around his invading finger, the heat nearly forcing him to withdraw. 

Curiously Sunstreaker probed, stroking along the inner wall and feeling something wrinkle against his intrusion. The femme renewed her cries, but didn’t dare try to stop the gladiator. Sunstreaker experimentally pumped his finger, analyzing the texture that greeted his exploration and watched as blue poured from the valve, consuming the silver.

With a burst of delighted arrogance that twisted his beautiful features into a horrible mask, Sunstreaker allowed a cruel smile; curling his fingers and feeling the lining tear. 

The femme started to thrash, the pain overriding her protocols to please her master. The only thing she wanted to remove the inquisitive digit from her sensitive valve. 

Sunstreaker scraped along the obtruding nodes inside the valve, his face becoming more jubilant as he felt the blistered lining give, blue staining his fingers at a faster pace. He felt his spike twitch in arrogance, pressurizing in a slow, erotic fashion, like a lover being summoned to action by a sultry temptress. 

His engine purred, realizing the heat of his spike had scorched the delicate lining. The damage had doubled when he overloaded, the transfluid searing the nodes, burning out their neural receptors. When Sunstreaker removed his finger, there was a dark sooty residue mixing with the lovers sated fluids.

With renewed vigor, Sunstreaker rolled the femme onto her back. She didn’t bother hiding her pain, her optics glowing, as she cried out from the sudden movement.

“No. No more. Please, no more,” she sobbed, recognizing the lust that darkened Sunstreaker’s own optics. She pressed her legs together, hoping to dissuade her master, her face awash with tears as she pled for leniency. 

Her voice and defiance only stoked Sunstreaker’s passion. Wordlessly he grabbed her knees, jerking them apart and pressed his hands to the inside of her thighs, holding her into place as he lined his spike to her valve and drove forward in one swift motion. 

She screamed against the intrusion, her legs trying fruitlessly to kick and dislodge his spike, but she was no match for Sunstreaker’s strength. His fingers dug into the seams of her legs, his weight causing the metal to bend in a perfect mold of his hands.

Sunstreaker hissed when he entered her, the clench of her valve painful against his spike. The valve contracted harshly, protesting the treatment, but instead of warning the intruder against further intrusion, it only stimulated Sunstreaker into action. Panting roughly through his vents he started to move, thrusting feverishly into the tightness that seemingly wanted to prevent his release. 

The femme’s cries pitched, but Sunstreaker paid no attention. He groaned, feeling the still searing heat of his last overload lingering in her body. It created a most delectable sensation that bloomed across his sensor array, dominating all thought and reason. His mouth worked wordlessly, unable to form coherent thought as his spike continued to fully withdraw then slide easily inside the seared valve. The sting of his transfluid coated the lining and mingled in a most pleasant way with the cool energon being bled through the tears as each thrust further ruptured the lining. All Sunstreaker could focus on was the unfamiliar presence gripping his spike and offering pleasure on a whole new level. 

He tensed, fighting desperately toward overload, but finding the stimulation to be counteracting the desired effect. Instead of emptying himself into the delicious heat, his body flared erratically, disrupting his charge. Gruffly, Sunstreaker squeezed the thin thighs, pressing them flat and nearly rising vertical against her. The shift in angle had the desired effect. The valve gave several hard contractions in defiance. Sunstreaker groaned in approval, changing his rhythm to a shallow thrust that allowed the contractions to fully embrace his spike.

It was then that he felt the sharp sting near the tip of his spike. He first passed it off as oversensitive nodes, but when the thrusts started to be greeted continuously in such a fashion, he stalled his actions, trying to decipher the intimate bite. A burning fire erupted along the underside of his spike, causing him to hiss and withdraw, his optics scanning his length for the cause. 

As he withdrew he noticed the woven mesh that lined a valve, cling to his spike. Frowning, he stared at the lining as it folded outside the valve entrance, blue slowly dripping from its edges as it hung limp against the rim. His spike gave an overpowering throb of anticipation, bobbing in readiness to claim the valve once more and fulfill its function of obtaining blissful overload. Not one to argue with his needs, Sunstreaker seated himself to the hilt. 

Then the slight sting along the tip became a painful, grinding twist, causing his spike to immediately protest, the charge faltering once again. With a snarl of contempt, Sunstreaker realization what happened. 

The lining had been torn away. There was no protective barrier between the gears and actuators that spiraled during interface. Now her passage was rough and ill fitting, the exposed inner workings coarse and biting. He withdrew again, glaring murderously at the offending valve, then the femme’s optics. She stared into his optics with pain and desperation, silently asking for mercy, but Sunstreaker’s lust was far from being sated. 

He needed an overload, and he needed it 'now!'

He grabbed her head, forcing her face to his spike and commanded in a harsh, gravely voice, “Overload me!”

The femme opened her mouth to protest but Sunstreaker rammed his spike past her lips and collided with her intakes. She sputtered, instantly trying to extricate him from her oral cavity, but he started to piston his hips, his rhythm furious and demanding. Any words she tried to form were smothered, though she doubted any would be heard as the gladiator filled the room with a keening whine.

Sunstreaker couldn’t stop the cry from escaping. He was so close! Just teetering at the edge, waiting for the lightest of touches to push him over. He received his final push in a maelstrom of sensation as the femme tensed her vocal cables, a wonderful sonant rising from within her throat that sent shivers straight through Sunstreaker’s spike. With a shout he overloaded, his transfluid being lured and swallowed by the talented mouth. He felt a grim satisfaction, hearing the femme gag on his transfluid, jetting harshly and overflowing her oral cavity.

The femme choked, her intakes rebelling against the hot streaming transfluid as Sunstreaker circled his hips. Sunstreaker was so concentrated on the delightful tingles across his sensor net he didn’t hear his door open. But he did hear the gasp of surprise. 

Lazily his optics strayed to his guest, his processor taking a moment to identify the gladiatorial boss. The post coital bliss disappeared like a flame in an ice storm. Sunstreaker released the femme’s head and slowly regained his pedes, staring at Grotto.

“What business do you have entering my quarters without permission?” Sunstreaker demanded, optics flaring to near white.

“I knocked but you didn’t hear me,” Grotto said, slightly perturbed at the gladiator’s tone. If any others had been so impertinent, the ringleader would have reprimanded them. But then again, Sunstreaker wasn’t property. He was a colleague. A business partner. Grotto planned the fights, padded the bets, and did the financial aspect of their arrangement. Sunstreaker was the physical half of their relationship, fighting and killing on demand. Needless to say, he was granted a lot of leeway. 

Sunstreaker wasn’t intimidated by the larger mech. He stood defiantly, optics nitid in anger, oblivious to the coolness across his spike. 

Sunstreaker pointed to the still sobbing femme on the floor. “I told you the femmes need new valve fittings. They have become so loose, they tear.”

Grotto’s optics darted to the femme that had gone unnoticed until Sunstreaker mentioned her. Grotto noticed the pool of blue energon staining her thighs. There was no mistaking the silver swirls of transfluid mixing in a macabre, exotic pattern, nor the silver that painted her face. 

Grotto returned his gaze to Sunstreaker, his optics taking in the gladiator’s perfect form. 

Sunstreaker frowned, not liking the look Grotto bestowed upon his body. Yes, he was a little more endowed than most with his frame type, and more than one lustful optic took in his glorious physique but the look Grotto bestowed was…unsettling. It wasn’t just admiration for a well sculpted body. Sunstreaker felt a shiver, silently glad he didn’t possess a valve. He’d hate to have Grotto’s lust filled countenance hovering over him as he spiked the object of his desire. 

“I’ll see to it that they are all refitted,” Grotto said, smothering a look of disappointment when Sunstreaker picked up a cleaning cloth and began to wipe the lubricant, energon, and transfluid from his now limp spike. Sunstreaker kept the cloth positioned over his interface panel as he used the edges to wipe along his thighs and panels, purposely keeping his spike hidden. He noticed Grotto’s optics as they stayed entranced by his movements. It was one thing to be gazed at with envy and awe from those who truly felt such things while being in the presence of a gladiatorial god, but the look in Grotto’s optics was quite disturbing. 

“See to it,” Sunstreaker said sharply, pulling Grotto’s attention away from his interface array.

The ringleader looked disappointed at being distracted from his personal fantasy, but gave Sunstreaker a wide smile that flashed his pointed denta. “Anything for my best fighter.”

“Get out,” Sunstreaker barked at the femme, who hastily scrambled to comply. She hobbled out the door, as quickly as she could, not making optic contact with either master. Sunstreaker nodded to the trail of spilled fluids and looked to Grotto, “Send a slave to clean up this mess.”

“It will be done,” Grotto said with a shallow bow, his optics once again strayed to Sunstreaker’s interface array, no doubt wishing the cleaning cloth was gone so he could gaze on the gladiator’s mechhood. 

Sunstreaker’s stare was intense and threatening, letting the gladiatorial mogul know his welcome had expired. 

Grotto offered a short nod before taking his leave, the door hissing in disapproval in his wake. Sunstreaker let out a slow exhale, feeling a sudden chill steal over his body.

Maybe his partnership with the fight mogul wasn’t such a good idea.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Just wanted to let everyone know that Sunstreaker is slowly starting to piece together what’s wrong, though he still has a LITTLE left to figure out. Not to worry, I’m finally going to let him have some ‘fun’ in this chapter. But don’t fret. His mean streak comes back. The mech is fickle, what can I say? He’s vicious, violent, ill tempered and basically a Piscean male. (snort)
> 
> Also, I never intended on putting Sideswipe in this particular fic. I wanted to delve into Sunny’s psychological dysfunctions and basically torture the living daylights out of him. What can I say, I’m sadistic like that. Makes him more intriguing, especially when you find out how truly screwed he is.

Sunstreaker woke with a start, his optics fixed on the ceiling as if it would collapse on him at any moment. He shook his helm, trying to rid himself of the mental image of being trapped underground. His head pounded, his spark twisted uncomfortably, and his joints felt achy. He hadn’t felt this bad since the last time he saw his brother. 

There had been a huge argument and Sunstreaker stormed away from his twin, drowning his sorrows in high grade and waking up creditless in an alley. Thankfully Grotto had found him and offered him shelter.

He groaned as he turned over, his healing shoulder giving a low throb in retaliation, but offered no further objection. He checked his internal chronometer and found it to be relatively early. What had brought him out of recharge?

And what had caused the disturbing sensation of being suffocated under an oppressing weight?

The chime to his door beeped, signaling a visitor.

Sunstreaker carefully maneuvered himself off the berth, his knees buckling slightly with his weight before stabilizing. He opened the door to find the medic holding a diagnostic pad. 

“Status report,” he said as greeting, waving the pad in Sunstreaker’s direction. 

Sunstreaker grunted as he turned, walking stiffly back to his berth and perching on the edge. 

“You seem to have an extra spring in your step today,” Sunstreaker said, eyeing the white medical officer. Sunstreaker noticed scrapes of black, silver and pink mingle with the medics own bland white coloring.

“Had a couple visitors this morning,” he said, giving Sunstreaker a look that could only be described as contentment. 

“Agreeable, were they?” Sunstreaker asked, though not really caring The medic’s interfacing habits didn’t interest him at all, though admittedly he had enjoyed watching the medic lose himself to the wiles of the talented pink femme. There was something beautifully artistic about the nervous mech losing himself so completely in the thrills of passion.

“Grotto has insisted all the femme get new valve refittings,” he said, his optics sparkling like distant stars. 

“About time,” Sunstreaker muttered.

“The first two femmes were refitted this morning,” The medic said, and now he wore a sickening grin to rival Sunstreaker’s. “They will need a couple of cycles to heal, then they will feel brand new again.”

“Brand new?” Sunstreaker asked with interest, his spark giving a little flip in its casing.

“Well, not fresh off the assembly line new, but a lot better than what they were.” The medic’s face flashed a momentary lust before returning to his normal features.

The medic withdrew the diagnostic connection from Sunstreaker’s shoulder and transferred it to his knees, concentrating on the screen. After a minute of close scrutiny he added, “Joint replacement is progressing well. Structural integrity is at ninety eight percent, tensile capacity is at ninety seven percent.” He looked into Sunstreaker’s optics and added, “I’m surprised you’ve healed this well, considering your recent activities.” 

The humor practically danced in the medic’s optics. Sunstreaker felt his ego inflate just a little. The medic was praising his healing ability and his prowess in the berth. Even injured as he was, he was still performing well above expectations.

Slag, he was good.

“I also wanted to thank you,” the medic said, sending Sunstreaker’s wavering attention back to him. “For sharing the new femme with me.”

“She’ll need a new valve fitting,” Sunstreaker said, finding the gratitude to be a nice sensation. He found he liked being admired and adored. It didn’t matter it was coming from the spastic, uptight medic. Praise came in all shapes, sizes, and formats. Who was he to argue with adulation?

“She is to be refitted as soon as Grotto has finished with her,” the medic said, returning to his scans, knowing he wasn’t going to receive any flattery from the gladiator in return. 

They had shared a femme, nothing more. He just couldn’t stop the uplifting sense of hero worship toward the pale yellow mech. Most gladiators would have made the medic watch as they took the pleasure bot, but this exceptionally talented mech had allowed him to take part in the pleasurable activities and not be just a bystander. He knew it was in payment for his surgical skills and keeping the mech safe, but it sure felt nice to be considered an equal during interface, and not just a lustful spectator. His admiration for the gladiator went up a bit.

“Grotto has her?” Sunstreaker asked, genuinely interested. Usually he never cared where the slaves went after they left him. He never thought about them when he had taken his fill. Primus, he didn’t even know any of their designations, let alone what they did in their time off, if they had any. Their lives were never interesting to the gladiator. As long as they performed their function and kept the raging lust of the gladiators and administrative workers of Grotto’s lucrative business in check, then who cared what they did in their spare time.

“She will be in high demand,” Sunstreaker said, remembering how talented she was with her body. She certainly knew how to use it and how to manipulate a mech into performing his best. 

Well, not Sunstreaker’s best. His best was still yet to come, just waiting on the horizon. His spark sang at the thought, his engine rumbling in a low purr. 

“Best to be first in line after her refitting,” the medic said, disconnecting the diagnostic leads. 

Sunstreaker’s optics darkened slightly as he remembered their unions. Yes, she had performed exceptionally well, even given him a couple of armor melting overloads, but yet, her talents didn’t seem to be fitted to his needs. She was still a mindless drone that only lived to serve the pleasures of her master. He gave a slow shake of his head.

“Maybe,” he muttered, deep in thought. He noticed the medic’s engine idling in a purr, obviously lost in his own little fantasy world. 

“I would like to propose a little…. test,” the medic said, his optics turning a little brighter.

Sunstreaker gave the medic a sidelong glance, noting his hands were fumbling with his diagnostic pad. He was back to his fidgeting self. 

“Oh?” Sunstreaker asked, canting his head. This had to be good. If the medic was this flustered just mentioning it, then it was probably something Sunstreaker was going to enjoy. 

“Well, an option really,” the medic said, glancing to the datapad as if it held all the answers. “I would like to monitor your progress and test your limits. You can either spar with the others for a few joors, or you could engage in …. other… activities and stress your joints so I can monitor their endurance factor.”

“To what degree?” Sunstreaker asked, instantly choosing the more preferable method of stressing his frame. 

“Some pain is fine, but if it becomes stabbing or severe burning, stop immediately and comm. me,” the medic said, already knowing the gladiator’s choice. 

“Understood,” Sunstreaker said, already sending a comm. to Grotto demanding two pleasure slaves. Grotto’s gruff reply was not what Sunstreaker wanted to hear.

-‘The femmes will be available as soon as they attend our new sponsors,’ -Grotto said via comms. 

Sunstreaker felt his lip curl in distaste. He hated not being obeyed.

-‘Send two femmes to me immediately, or I will come up there and pick them myself,’- Sunstreaker said through the link, his ire making the connection buzz with burning anger.

-‘I will have two flushed and sent as soon as possible,’- Grotto said, knowing the gladiator would do as promised. 

Sunstreaker cut the connection, his optics narrowed as he looked to the medic who had been silent during the exchange. 

“My entertainment will arrive shortly,” Sunstreaker said, his optics taking on a lecherous glint that made the medic shudder. 

“I will stop by later to check on your progress,” he said, going to the door. He turned to look at Sunstreaker, sprawled on his berth in magnificent glory, and noted the gladiator was rubbing his interface panel. “Remember, if you feel any burning or stabbing pain, stop and comm. me.”

Sunstreaker offered a nod of understanding. The medic sighed and took his leave, hoping he’d get to return and maybe, if the gladiator was in an amicable mood, share one of his pleasure slaves. It wasn’t often the medic was granted pleasure time, Grotto demanding he work diligently to keep the gladiators in top operating form. It was demanding work, considering the violent nature of the fighters. The medic just wished he could spend more time exploring his own sexual needs with the pleasure bots instead of watching them fulfill the gladiatorial fantasies. Sometimes, life just wasn’t fair. 

Sunstreaker waited for the femmes to arrive, pacing his quarters, his spike giving him pangs of mutual impatience. It seemed to take forever for his entertainment to arrive and when the door chimed for their arrival, Sunstreaker hit the lock so hard it made his palm sting. 

Two femmes stood patiently waiting in the doorway. One was a dark blue, the color of deep pools of water, inviting the daring to take a breathless plunge. Her optics were the same shade as her armor, and she swayed like the ebbing tide. The other femme was a brilliant emerald green, her plating shining like precious gems waiting to be set in royal dress. She sparkled in the light, glittering like a jewel, her optics glowing a soft gold.

Sunstreaker looked the femmes over, noticing the blue femme bashfully looked away from his optics, her demeanor very coy and hesitant. The green femme was bold, maintaining optic contact, appraising his masculine form with mutual interest. They played their roles well, each balancing the other, hoping to give the mech what he wanted as a conquest.

Sunstreaker snorted at their facade. He had both of the femmes before, they were no strangers to his berth, but if they wanted to play the part, he could indulge them, at least until it no longer entertained him. His optics darted to the coy one, her cheek plates coloring slightly in feigned embarrassment. 

“Pleasure yourself,” Sunstreaker commanded her.

Instantly her coy manner was gone, replaced by a femme who easily slid her hand down her body, opened her valve, and proceeded to ease her fingers along the wetness. She obediently locked optics, fluttering her vents in soft sighs as she voiced her building arousal.

Sunstreaker groaned but not from excitement. So much for the shy femme who felt she couldn’t innocently explore her own body. The sapphire femme was displaying how well versed she was. She was merely putting on a show for her master. Sunstreaker looked to the other femme, the one playing the sultry temptress, her hands already caressing her body and giving clear signals that she was in an amorous mood. 

Sunstreaker jerked his head toward the blue femme pleasuring herself and snapped, “Hit her”

The emerald femme’s face went lax with momentary incomprehension. Her role was to be sexy and alluring, not brutal toward her fellow slave. 

The blue femme pleasuring herself gave Sunstreaker a surprised look. Surely he didn’t mean to have her beaten. The emerald femme looked hesitantly from Sunstreaker to her companion and with her hand, slapped the other femme across the shoulder. The impact barely moved the cobalt femme, the sound making a light tinkling noise.

Sunstreaker growled, advancing like the veil of night. He grabbed the vixen by the back of her neck and spun her bodily to face the other femme, her feet getting airborne with the viciousness of the action.

“Look at her!” Sunstreaker snarled in her audio, causing her to shiver, and not from lust. “Still mindlessly pleasuring herself, even when you attack her. Her only concern is carrying out my orders, just like you. I give the command and both of you jump to comply.”

The jeweled femme nodded, agreeing with his words and feeling her spark twist, knowing the volatile mech ravaged bodies like an insatiable beast. Last time she was with him, she spent a couple days in the medical ward. His brutality was to expected here in the illegal underground arena. This place was not for the weak of spirit or mind. They fought hard, trained hard, and interfaced hard. 

With a murderous glare Sunstreaker threw the green femme against the berth. She landed with clanging thud, the edge biting into her hips, her chest plates sinking into the plush cushion of the berth. Sunstreaker followed her the short distance, his spike pressuring quickly as he approached. He kicked at her ankles, demanding her legs to part. She obliged, bracing herself against the plush surface for the dominating presence about to take her. She wasn’t disappointed. Sunstreaker slammed his spike inside her, already expecting the less than taunt valve. 

She grimaced when he entered but kept her vocalizer shut for fear of his reprisal. Her valve was a little sore from entertaining the new sponsors her master had acquired, and the flushing of their transfluids had left her valve a little dry and raw. Not that any of that mattered. Right now, the only thing that centered her world was the pleasured gasps from the mech buried inside her, relishing the unexpected resistance to his entry. 

Sunstreaker gasped when his spike didn’t immediately slide into the welcoming valve with its usual smoothness. Instead, a raw, slightly parched lining greeted his entry. It was a most unusual sensation. Sunstreaker decided he liked it when he noted her twitches against his movement. The unlubricated valve must be very uncomfortable to be stretched with a thick spike grating against its tender nodes unaided by the friction reducing lubricant. 

Sunstreaker slowly withdrew, feeling the tip of his spike rake across the gritty nodes in an eerily erotic fashion. Her valve gave an inquisitive clench, unsure of its function since the passage wasn’t coated in lubricant specially readying it to accept a charge. Sunstreaker groaned as the valve kneaded his spike as it exited, contracting the rim as he made to completely withdraw. The tightening rim applied the right amount of pressure to the head of his spike, and with an animalistic growl, he thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt. The sensation of his spike striking the unprepared sensors clustered at the back of her valve caused the femme to gasp, her hips rocking into the mech pinning her into place. Pleasurable pain skittered across her sensor net, a deep pooling of heat forming in her lower abdomen, its focus centered on the turgid tip engulfing her senses. 

Inflamed by the unexpected sensations, she started to grind against his body, jerking her pelvic plating toward the floor at spastic intervals, forcing his angle to change. Sunstreaker gasped, hands grasping her emerald hips to steady himself as he felt the delicious heat bloom around his spike. If the femmes felt this good after a flush, he’d have to demand the procedure before every encounter. 

Small hands touched his back, earning a startled growl that made him thrust harder into the valve. He had completely forgotten about the other femme in the room. Oh, he was definitely going to demand their valves be flushed before servicing him. 

The blue femme lightly caressed his shoulders, down his back, cupping his aft before sliding around his hips, her hands applying just the right amount of pressure. A cool sensation followed her exploration, no doubt the lubricant from her own sex still fresh on her fingers as she traced the sensual lines of the masculine gladiator. Her lips were soft against his shoulder, her breath in heavy pants against his back as she continued to feel his body writhe against her. Her hands traced down his arms, her fingers slipping between his as he continued to thrust into the unprepared heat trying to consume him body and soul. The sapphire femme molded her body against the powerful golden frame, feeling his energy, strength, pure male dominance radiating from every inch, buzzing across her EM field in a way that caused her to moan against him. 

Sunstreaker felt the tiny fingers of the blue femme pressed into his own, relishing the power and might of his frame as he took her companion. The feeling sent a flash of heat across his sensor net, causing his EM field to flare in arousal. 

So, the femme wanted to know what it was like for the mechs as they sheathed themselves into the inviting softness of feminine wiles? Sunstreaker’s face took on a smug gleam of satisfaction, feeling the cobalt femme press into his body, her softer curves arched against his, her body following his rhythm as he claimed her viridian counterpart. Without faltering, he grabbed the blue wrist, pulling the femme away from his back and pushed her against the berth. 

The femme’s optics were nearly white with lust, offsetting the deep navy of her protoform covering. Lubricant flowed freely down the inside of her thighs. She had really been enthralled by the mechs presence and the total authority he presented. She gave him a curious stare, wondering what was in store for her this time. The mech liked to take his partners in different fashion, depending on his mood. She had assumed many roles and positions with this mech, once even standing on her head. 

Sunstreaker felt the green femme start to lubricate in answer to his vicious thrusts, her valve still performing the experimental clenches as it tried to decipher whether or not to build a charge. With the way the femme was currently grinding against him in total abandon, it wasn’t going to be long before she overloaded, and with the lubricant starting to slick her passage, it was going to be quite impressive. He gave a strangled hiss when he felt the green femme’s valve strongly grip his length.

Roughly Sunstreaker grabbed the blue femme, picking her much lighter frame off the floor and settling her on the berth. She rose on hands and knees, but Sunstreaker shook his head, grasping her legs and pulling her toward him, his spike still buried in the green femme’s body. It took a moment, and great patience on Sunstreaker’s part, but he was able to get the sapphire femme straddling viridian hips. 

The blue femme looked down between her legs, watching as Sunstreaker withdrew his spike from her green companion and plunged back into her body, his strength jarring both femmes. His hands returned to the green femme’s hips, feeling her circling and buck against him, demanding completion.

The green femme didn’t seem to notice the added weight across her hips as she gave several spastic, erratic jerks, stirring the spike within. She could feel the overload brimming, ready to explode from her core and devour her body and soul. She never had such an intense need for overload with a mech as she did now. 

Sunstreaker grunted, feeling the valve lubricate, making him slip easily into a shallow thrust that continuously motivated the recessed nodes. He split his chest plates, giving the blue femme a dangerously aroused look, his vents panting harshly as he felt himself nearing the edge. 

“Be prepared to merge,” he said through clenched lips, his body reacting to the erratic counterthrusts the green femme was performing. 

The cobalt femme nodded, opening her own chest plates to merge with the mech when he overloaded. Not one to be idle, she leaned into his body, her glossa tickling along the edges of his parted chest plates before turning her attention to the silver cylinder that housed his spark. 

He gasped, using the added stimulus to fuel his actions. He withdrew from the welcoming heat, feeling the cool air of the room caress the heated metal of his spike, before he rocked forward, his spike once again sheltered in the femme’s body. He felt lubricant slick the green hips, making his grip falter, which in turn created unexpected changes in angle. 

The viridian femme mewled, feeling as if she was penetrated a thousand times over, every node preparing for the ultimate discharge. She knew the gladiator wasn’t one for flattery and empty words, but she couldn’t stop the litany of broken words to escape. Primus, she was claimed by him, in every sense of the term. Too bad he wasn’t always in such a good humor. She could get used to this kind of fulfilling treatment. 

The blue femme flicked her glossa around the seam of Sunstreaker’s spark chamber, her hips in constant motion as she rubbed her valve against the green, writhing body beneath her. She lubricated heavily, her arousal tainting the viridian body beneath her, both chorusing with lusty mews. She could almost feel the mech entering her, pressing against her inner walls, filling her, overshadowing her desires with his own. 

Sunstreaker could feel the tightening of the valve with each stroke, knowing the green femme was close. He could feel it too, teetering just beyond his reach, tantalizing and teasing, and taunting him about his inadequacies. 

He growled, shaking his head to ward off the phantom voice that liked to interrupt his fun. But he couldn’t stop the desperate, hopeless feeling slowly filling his spark. He fought against it, rallying against the oncoming tide, the little voice in his processor chanting about his pittance of pleasure. The voice singsonged, mocking him, reminding him the femmes were going to find their release, and he was going to settle for the mediocre consequents. Again. 

Rising furiously against the mockery, Sunstreaker violently plunged his spike inside the taunting valve, determined to force it into pushing him over the edge and send him spinning chaotically into a processor blowing overload. 

As if a lightning bolt shot through her, the green femme keened, feeling her overload tear through her body, making her twitch and writhe like a glitched drone. Her valve squeezed, her pelvis locking down, hard, on the spike seated so deeply it touched her soul.

Sunstreaker felt the sudden pressure and stiffened, his spinal strut threatening to buckle with the sheer intensity radiating from his spike. His broken cry was the trigger for the blue femme, who instantly pressed her spark into the maelstrom of the gladiator’s. Tiny arcs of electricity danced across their plating, mimicking the act of their mating sparks.

The emerald femme keened from the dual contact of the burning presence of his spark essence tingling across her body, and his spike consuming her delicate femininity with such ferocity, she convulsed. The last thought in her processor was the mech was Primus incarnate, and she was lucky to have berthed him. She offlined with a smile on her face, her vents opened to their fullest, and heat roiling off her frame. All indications of a full body, processor stalling overload. 

Sunstreaker growled, feeling the charge once again elude him. His spike gave a few fitful bursts, his body straining, desperate to force the transfluid from his reserves, but the charge had already started to dissipate, leaving behind the pleasant buzz of sated circuits. 

The blue femme gave a few twitches from the electric bite of completion, and fell forward, her arms wrapping around Sunstreaker to keep both anchored to the physical plane. He buckled against her, feeling the jolts of their combined energy fields mingle and spark with static. She moaned, her body trembling against the solid mech held tightly in her arms. 

Sunstreaker grunted against the intimate embrace the blue femme bestowed on him. Admittedly her frame felt nice shuddering next to his own, but Sunstreaker didn’t like romantic type gestures, which was why he never kissed those he berthed. He felt a sting in his left knee and extracted himself from the sapphire arms, the femme giving a whine at the physical loss. He flexed his legs, testing them and felt the left twinge with pain, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He had sustained far worse injuries competing in the games. 

He plopped down on the berth, massaging the joints, his face screwed up in anger. His spike remained partially pressurized, offering a tiny drop of lubricant, adding to the ridicule. He glared at the offending piece of his anatomy, trying to find a physical defect that caused him to be deficient in his release. There were no anomalies that he could see. The normal grooves and shifting plates all looked the same as they ever have, and the medic had informed him several times that there was no malfunction in his equipment. He sat contemplating the cause for such let down, his spark wanting to cry at the loss of something it nearly had but was denied. Sunstreaker just couldn’t understand it. 

What could possibly be missing? Yes, the femmes were well versed in their trade and the green femme had a rather unexpected tautness to her valve. The overload had been building, he had felt both femmes fly into eternal overload. The heavy aroma of interfacing hung like a fog in the room, attesting to the activities of the occupants and that climax had indeed been obtained. 

So, why couldn’t he overload adequately? The discharge so powerful his systems had to reboot, his entire being needing to reset from the intensity of the joining. 

He had been so close. 

The green femme twitched, her systems trying to reboot.

His spike shifted, lazily lifting its head, trying to communicate to its master its nameless desires. Sunstreaker sat back against the wall, his hand idly stroking the head, as if hoping the answer would be spoken from its tip. The spike merely weaved drunkenly, partly pressurized and offering tears of anguish. 

He felt a pang in his spark chamber, knowing that something wasn’t bringing him to completion. Even the spark merge with the femme while he overloaded hadn’t been enough to trip his reset protocols. His spike still retained its partial charge, remaining at half mast as it sadly waited for its elusive overload. 

The blue femme had regained her senses, and upon noticing Sunstreaker’s apparently melancholy, she crawled along the berth, her glossa flicking across his ankle, his calf, his knee, over his lubricant stained thighs to his spike. She looked into the shadowed countenance of the gladiator and while maintaining optic contact, twirled her glossa across his spike before pulling the tip into her oral cavity. 

Sunstreaker offered a weak grunt, not really in the mood for further interfacing, but the femme looked so alluring, her optics darkening as she sucked on his spike, her glossa doing wonderful things to the slit. Well, his spike didn’t reach maximum discharge earlier, so maybe he would be able to find release in the second round? It had worked before. His spark gave a half hearted flip, as if disappointed by his deducing skills and simply silenced itself, letting his primal programming take control once again. 

The femme pulled him into her mouth, her glossa sensually removing the fluids from her master and companion. She closed her optics, humming pleasantly as she felt the spike twitch with her manipulation. Her lingula flickered across the head with rapid pulses before tasting the full length, pressing hard against the underside and feeling the throb of arousal as the spike began to awaken. It took some time but the blue femme was able to return the spike to hardness, her head bobbing with enthusiastic praise. 

The emerald femme gave a low whine as she rebooted, her optics finding her partner and master in wanton display. Sunstreaker looked up from the cobalt femme, his arousal apparent in his nearly black optics. Wordlessly the green femme crawled onto the berth, soon joining her companion as their lingulas dueled over the worshipping of the thickening spike. 

Sunstreaker could see the sheen of lubricant spill from between both of the feminine thighs. His spike gave a surge at the sight. He grasped the blue femme, pulling her attention away from his spike. She made to kiss him but he rebuked her advances with a warning growl. Instead he turned her around, pulling her leg across his lap and watched as his spike disappeared inside her body. He groaned at the welcoming heat, not expecting her to be this turned on. Primus, she felt like an inferno, burning and bubbling and all because of the mech currently sheathed inside her. He growled low in his chassis, his spark giving him an answering throb that echoed to his spike. 

The sapphire body rocked against him, stroking his spike with her valve, spiraling the actuators and grinding on the ample length. She rose and fell like the tide, rising to crest the head of the spike, before slamming back down, riding the hot metal with short, fierce thrusts. 

Sunstreaker’s mind detached, allowing the heat to swallow him as readily as her valve had done. Bits and pieces started to flicker across his consciousness, the raveled edges coming together to form a tapestry that his spark wove, hoping to convey its desire to the lust driven mech. 

The laxity of a pleasure bot. The façade the pleasure bots presented. The willingness to do everything requested of them by their master. The sheer magnitude of his prowess as he took them, both physically and bodily, sending them soaring into bliss while he remained a prisoner of gravity.

No argument, no hesitation on their part. No stirring of passion in Sunstreaker’s soul. Except when they refused him or begged for his compassion. The force to push them to their limits, leaving them broken and bleeding

The intense heat of a primed valve, waiting for his introduction. A valve constricting in pure processor blowing arousal, becoming a smoldering passage of quasi-innocence. There was nothing like the feel of a tight valve responding in the most basic, primal way. 

With that train of thought, Sunstreaker’s spike gave a violent lurch, a small stream of transfluid escaped causing the blue femme to gasp in response. 

Sunstreaker’s smile turned feral, his optics lighting in such a way, it made his whole face beam.

He had thought of it the day before, before demanding the pleasure bot. He needed someone with less miles on their body. He knew it was next to impossible to find an untried femme, but definitely someone who didn’t have any direct link with the pleasure business. 

His spark pounded with joy, threatening to erupt from its casing. Sunstreaker felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from him. The revelation was almost tangible. He wanted someone who could not only indulge his spike, but his spark as well. Who offered him resistance and attitude, who thought for themselves and spoke their mind instead of waiting for him to direct their actions. Someone he could pour himself into and be lost in their bodies.

His spark hammered against its casing so violently, Sunstreaker couldn’t stop the little whine in his engine. His spike twitched in response, knowing the gladiator had finally made the connection. Total fulfillment was just on the horizon, and the gladiator wanted it so badly, his very spirit ached with need. 

He wedged his knees between the blue femme’s, feeling her relinquish control, allowing her master to position her as he pleased. He braced his pedes on the berth and opened his legs. In turn, the action spread the femme obscenely wide, allowing the green femme to view their intimate connection. 

“Pleasure us,” he commanded the green femme. 

Her optics darkened as she hastily bent to obey. She placed soft kisses to the inside of the sapphire thighs, slowly going lower until her lips brushed against the recessed node just outside of the rim. The blue femme squeaked, her head falling back on Sunstreaker’s shoulder as her vents heaved. The position allowed her sensitive sensor nub to be exposed, the intimate caress emphasizing the penetration as her body tried to decipher which was more pleasurable.

Sunstreaker grunted, feeling the valve ripple at the dual sensation. He was going to have to remember this for future encounters. He didn’t have to move to build a charge. The femmes were doing all the work, allowing him to bask lazily in their attention.

The green femme flicked the sensor with the tip of her glossa before tracing the breached rim, sensually massaging the joined bodies. Sunstreaker withdrew, allowing the femme to lavish attention on both their bodies. Her glossa went to his spike, forcefully squeezing in the deep groove that ran along the underside. There were nodes buried within the groove that were only stimulated when pressure was applied within the gap.

It was Sunstreaker’s turn to gasp and lean his head back against the wall, shuttering his optics. He almost pulled free, feeling the talented glossa follow his length, undulating to rise against the rim, where lips would intimately kiss the rim that bulged against the head of the spike, causing the blue femme to sputter, her body jolting as if electrocuted. 

Sunstreaker slowly lowered the blue femme, feeling the tightness radiate all over his spike and spread warmth throughout his body. 

The emerald femme teased his spike to the base as he sheathed himself back inside the blue femme. When he was completely seated, she traced the join of his spike and body, alternating between long, pressing strokes, to light, casual flicks of her glossa before returning to suckle at the base once again. 

Sunstreaker’s engine growled in arousal. The femme certainly knew how to use that glossa! He looked down over the navy plating of the panting femme and locked optics with the emerald femme currently engaging their joined bodies. 

The green femme gave her most seductive look, before inching her glossa around the taunt rim, teasing both spike and valve. She worshipped the taunt rim, studiously ignoring the main sensor node that screamed for attention. She kept optic contact with Sunstreaker, noting how dark his optics turned as he watched her expertly praise their joining. 

Sunstreaker growled deep in his chassis, watching the femme pleasure both himself and the blue femme displayed with wanton abandon. Each flick of the green femme’s glossa caused the blue femme to spiral her valve, little jolts making the passage tighten in preparation for her building overload. The growl vibrated deep in his chassis and traveled through his frame, making both femmes mew, the sapphire femme writhing as the stimulation concentrated inside her valve. 

With a sensual look, the viridian femme darted her glossa across the main sensor node above the rim of her companion’s valve. Sapphire plating jumped when the long ignored sensor was stroked, granting it a charge. The green femme pressed her palms against the inside of the other femme’s thighs and started circling the node. She alternated patterns of long, languid circles, to short, flickering jabs around the nub, before pressing her lips roughly against the rim and suckling the node.

The blue femme twitched like a live wire, her hands pawing at Sunstreaker’s arms as he tried to hold her in place. He placed his hands over the green femmes trying to restrain movement of cobalt hips, but each caress and kiss was bringing her closer to losing control. 

Sunstreaker felt the valve tighten, squeezing his spike in such a delicious way he nearly spilled his transfluid. Oh, he was definitely going to be using this position in the future. When her valve clamped down on his spike with such intensity he thought he’d rupture inside of her, he started pistoning his hips, shallow pumping into the incredible heat that bloomed like a nova.

The blue femme keened, her body going rigid as her overload blanked her sensor net, shorted out her vocalizer, and filled her optics with static. Lubricant flowed from her valve as the spike tip continuously stimulated the clustered nodes, exchanging violent charges.

The emerald femme halted her actions when her companion overloaded, her optics straying to the faces of the two lovers caught in writhing ecstasy. 

Sunstreaker looked to the green femme, his denta clenched as he continued to thrust up into the tight heat of the overloading femme.

“Did I say to stop?” he snarled at the emerald femme, who instantly returned to her previous activities.

The green femme saw the fire burn in the gladiator’s optics and suppressed a shiver. Primus he was gorgeous, even when his optics smoldered like a million suns ready to consume the universe with their fiery power. She quickly licked at the joined bodies, suckling the base of the spike before returning attention back to the sensor nub that flared hot against her lips. Her glossa lapped at the lubricant, before sucking urgently around the base of the still pumping spike. 

Sunstreaker panted, feeling the charge rise as the femme continued to ride out her overload. With a spastic jerk she fell against him, unconscious but still writhing with the continued stimulation from the two pleasuring her valve. Sunstreaker wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her down against him to meet his thrusts, the charge building along his spike, his transfluid ready to be spilled in the wonderful heat that beckoned it toward completion. 

So caught up in the impending overload, Sunstreaker didn’t notice the door open, or hear the surprised, yet very aroused, growl that came from Grotto.


	6. Chapter Six

Grotto stood outside the gladiator’s door for what seemed like an eternity, the door chiming his presence, but still, no one answered. Scowling, the gladiatorial ring leader punched in the code and opened the door, and couldn’t hold back the sounds that escaped. The room was permeated with the scent of sex, the aroma instantly registering to the mech’s analyzers. The heady scent was enough to make any mech ready for interface, and with the scene currently displayed before his optics, he couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. 

Grotto entered the gladiator’s quarters, his optics fixed on the golden fighter as he held a blue femme against him, a green femme kneeling between their bodies and blocking his view. He sidestepped to look past the kneeling femme and saw her glossa darting out, licking the apex of the two bodies. Sunstreaker’s golden hips furiously pumping into the sapphire femme as she lulled against his body, obviously unconscious.

Grotto felt his spike pressurize, watching as the gladiator’s impressive length continued to impale the blue femme, the green femme dutifully kissing and sucking on the overly charged node on the blue femme’s rim. Grotto couldn’t take it any longer. Being the leader of the underground fighting circuit, he had the authority to do whatever he pleased to his employees. Usually he didn’t engage the slaves when they were pleasuring the gladiators, but the sights, sounds, and smells filling his senses overrode his self control. 

Sunstreaker didn’t register someone entering the room, his focus consumed by the wonderful valve that continued to cling to his spike in lustful want. He was so close! He could feel the charge tingling along his relays. His transfluid signaled its readiness to discharge. His vision blurred from the intensity of their union, his optics barely discerning the other person in the room.

Truthfully, Sunstreaker didn’t care who they were. He was too close to completion. If it was something important, they would just have to wait until he was sated. He couldn’t stop now if he wanted to. It took a moment for him to recognize Grotto as he stood at the side of the berth, observing the intimacy displayed. 

Grotto turned lust filled optics to Sunstreaker, giving the gladiator a smug look, before going to the green femme. Her aft was displayed in the air as she knelt on her elbows, lovingly coaxing her berth mates to completion. She had been concentrating her efforts on keeping the sapphire femme in a constant state of arousal so Sunstreaker could find his release. She didn’t notice another person in the room until a glossa swiped along her exposed valve. She jumped at the contact, her breath ghosting over the valve and causing another ripple to contract the sheltered spike. Sunstreaker gave a groan at the sensation.

Grotto licked along the well lubricated valve, hearing the green femme gasp as he found her tender nub against the rim. He tipped her forward, angling her hips so he may stare into the face of the gladiator as he rose inexorably to his peak. Grotto’s optics watched over the swell of her emerald hips as Sunstreaker jerked, the first signs of his approaching overload making him tremble in supplication. 

Grotto’s glossa swirled around the sensor, causing the viridian femme to hiss in pleasure, her back arching to give him better access. Her attention returned to the valve that kept trying to shrink around the spike, rivulets of lubricant trailing over blue plating to bathe the pale yellow mech granting her such extended release. 

Grotto circled the valve, flicking the sensor nub, before delving his glossa into the heat of her body. He growled, tasting the delicate bouquet of feminine lubricants, tinged with the slight tang of mech transfluid. His lingula centered on the spicy buffet, undulating inside her body and demanding her immediate surrender. His mouth became rough as he watched in rapt attention as the cobalt frame twitched against the gladiator’s broad chest, her body continuously stimulated, even in slumber. 

The green femme felt her master probe her valve, his glossa a regular visitor after she had entertained. She never understood it, but the fight mogul seemed to get the most satisfaction in taking the femmes after they had berthed another. It was though he had to mask the other mechs presence, dominating their essence and marking the femmes as his own.

The emerald femme felt her master’s frenetic attention at her valve, his glossa probing inside to massage the inner nodes at her rim, then slipping back out to lick the edges, flickering against the main sensor nub causing her to tremble. His lip components compressed like a suckling babe to breast, kissing and stroking the throbbing sensor. She felt white hot heat bloom in her body as another overload boiled her internals. Rising on the crest of pleasure, she opened her mouth to the fullest and canted her head, surging forward to cover the other femme’s sensitive nub and the base of the gladiator’s spike. With a low purr she sucked, hard, adding a small flutter of her glossa against the taut joining of the rim and spike.

The sudden pressure and vibration triggered another overload in the blue femme, who convulsed in the yellow arms that held her. The incurring overload made her have the strongest reaction yet, and with a mighty wrench, her valve collapsed on the sheltered spike. 

Sunstreaker gasped, circling his hips so the valve could encompass his full length. One hand pressed against her lower abdomen, keeping her balanced, while the other pressed against the center of her sapphire hips, angling her pelvic area in such a way he was able to penetrate just a little deeper. He ground the femme against him, thrusting with fierce abandon into her body. 

Grotto watched as the gladiator thrust into the unconscious femme’s body, the action so violent and rapid he was reminded of a couple hyper-active petro-rabbits mating. 

With one final groaning grunt, Sunstreaker jerked rigid, his spike erupting. His lithe frame tensed, the cables straining as he felt the discharge from his spike, little stars bursting before his vision from the heated friction. His vision exploded into white static, his vents hitching and sputtering. 

Grotto watched, fascinated as the gladiator reached his peak. He had never witnessed anything so beautiful in his life. The sheen of condensation on the pale yellow armor, contrasting to the dark blue hue of the unconscious femme made a very vivid, erotic scene. He pulled the green femme away from the pair, allowing their coupling to be viewed with appraising optics. Grotto’s optics stayed focused on the union of their bodies, staring in fascination as the mechs thick spike disappeared in the femme’s greedy valve. Grotto expected to see the valve overflow with transfluid from such a powerful overload, but her valve released only a few pearls of silver. The rim was so tight in contraction, it was a wonder any fluid could escape at all. 

Grotto yanked the emerald femme to the edge of the berth, bracing himself against the side. He grasped her thighs, spreading her wide, and slid her backwards onto his spike. He hissed as she sheathed him, writhing against him as her still charged nodes continued to burst in little arcs of sexual electricity. 

She keened softly, feeling the spike’s shallow penetration. She relented, letting her master claim her. He may not have the yellow mech’s length, but he certainly had girth. 

Grotto grunted, thrusting up into the heat of her body, his optics locked onto the mech and femme reposing on the berth. He stared at the gladiator’s spike still intimately secluded inside the blue femme. The sight made his fuel pump sputter, his processor going blank as the charge built at an astonishing speed. 

Sunstreaker braced himself on his hands, vents panting with exertion. The femme’s valve clamped tight, refusing to relinquish its hold on its fulfilling invader. She remained motionless, save for her valve, which continued to entice the mech to succumb to her wiles. Out of instinct, Sunstreaker thrust inside the demanding temptress, his body shaking in submission to the stimuli still flooding his processor from the tight passage.

Sunstreaker felt his systems return to normal, his optics shifting to a deep azure. His attention was drawn toward the edge of his berth, where the sounds of grunts and whines were punctuated by the wet sounds of a spike and valve. Begrudgingly, Sunstreaker looked to the fight mogul, envious to the look of complete submission on the fight mogul’s face as he worked feverishly toward climax.

Sunstreaker felt somewhat better after his overload, though the pleasant buzz in his system was already dying out. He didn’t know if it was from another failure to reach ultimate fulfillment or the fact that Grotto was staring at the junction of his body as the femme’s valve continued to refuse his withdrawal. 

Grotto pulled the green femme against him, her head lulling forward as she tried to center the cyclone of pleasure that threatened to shatter her hold on reality. A few hard thrusts and Grotto emptied himself inside her, the violence of the erupting transfluid striking the recessed sensors and sending them cascading into a wonderful wave of prolonged released. Grotto locked his joints to keep from falling as he felt his systems shut down. With a satisfied grunt to Sunstreaker, and another strong jet of transfluid, he slumped across the green femme, her body the only thing keeping him anchored upright. 

The green femme gasped, her engine revving as she felt the weight against her back, pinning her to the edge of the berth. Her body shook in perfect tandem with the sapphire femme, who still hadn’t regained consciousness, her processor just as overtaxed as her body. The viridian femme purred, reveling in the euphoric tingles that lingered along her interface array. 

Sunstreaker sighed to himself, once again not reaching full potential. He felt the blue femme’s valve still bestow a loving embrace to his limp spike. Disgusted with himself, and finding the sated femme’s proximity to be adding to the insult, Sunstreaker held her hips in place, and pushed her upper body away from his chest. She fell face first onto the berth, unmoving. Sunstreaker canted his head, staring the length of her body, where her thighs bracketed his, the pale yellow of his protoform covering accenting her blue curves quite nicely. 

The green femme jumped when her friends head nearly collided with her own. She rose on unsteady arms, looking the gladiator in the optic. Her valve tightened in pleasure, her memory files recalling the sheer strength in his body as he took her against the berth. The spike now limp inside her was a pale comparison.

Sunstreaker offered a narrowed gaze to the femme, hoping she would say something. He didn’t want any of his companions near him, but with the blue femme and Grotto currently unconscious, there was little to do about the situation. Grotto was effectively pinning the emerald femme into place. 

Sunstreaker wanted the three of them gone so he could contemplate in private. He preferred to overload, then have his berthmates to leave. He wasn’t one to cuddle or murmur words of endearment. He would have moved, but the blue femme was still kneading his spike with her valve, and it was a sensation Sunstreaker was reluctant to leave. At least with her reposing between his legs she hid his spike from Grotto’s view. Sunstreaker felt a chill sweep over his body, recalling the lust that had whitened the gladiatorial moguls face as he took the green femme. Sunstreaker felt a pang of pity for the pleasure bots, knowing they had to berth such a loathsome individual. 

Time seemed to crawl by for Sunstreaker, his spike receiving less attention as the valve was reluctant to disperse its charge. It seemed forever when Grotto gave a grunt, his systems slow to reboot. He looked around the unfamiliar room, trying to remember where he was before he had the most processor blowing overload in his life.

After a minute, Grotto’s optics onlined, and with a pleased groan, he unlocked his joints, pulling his spike free and allowing the green femme her freedom. She immediately turned, dropping to her knees and cleaning the stunted spike with her glossa, Grotto’s hand cradling her head as she worked. 

Grotto’s optics alighted on Sunstreaker, but before he could open his vocalizer to speak, Sunstreaker beat him too it.

“What do you want?” Sunstreaker asked without preamble. He wanted the eerie mech to leave and take the two femmes with him. He wanted to be alone.

Grotto gave a noise of pleasure as the femme attended his spike, the nodes still carrying a slight charge. A snort like noise escaped the lumbering mech before he answered. 

“Just wanted to let you know that I have found another sponsor,” Grotto said, his hand giving the femme gentle encouragement. 

“This couldn’t wait until later?” Sunstreaker asked, raising an optic ridge. 

“I figured you would want to know about the sponsor who was fronting fifty thousand credits for you,” Grotto answered, wincing when the femme licked a tender sensor.

“Really?” Sunstreaker asked, leaning forward, mindful of the sapphire body reposing between his legs. His interest was definitely piqued. People fronting that kind of capital usually showed their gratitude in very appealing ways. 

Sunstreaker’s spike gave a stirring throb as a reminder, hoping to keep the mech’s mind focused. He had come to a self understanding, and he needed to remember his purpose, less he continue to reach unsatisfactory ends. The lax valve gave a mournful twitch, centering his attention.

“He is also going to make a generous contribution to the venue host, who will pack the stands with more of, shall we say, credit heavy spectators,” Grotto said, grunting when the green femme finished cleaning his body and stood up, her optics expectant of her master. 

“Have you secured a suitable location yet?” Sunstreaker asked, studiously ignoring the mech’s stunted spike. 

“There are two venues I have my optic on,” Grotto said, his vision straying to the blue femme and the spike she hid from view. “I have already started the refittings for the femmes so they will be able to entertain our guests before the match.”

“Keep them sated and their credits will fill your account,” Sunstreaker said with a shake of his head. He had wheedled quite a few credits out of people in the same manner. He was very familiar with such tactics. 

Grotto hefted his spike back into its housing, making a show of it for the gladiator’s sake. Sunstreaker felt like he wanted to laugh at the gesture, but wisely held his vocalizer. Grotto would never be attractive, much less physically appealing to want to berth. But he carried himself as if he was the gift to Cybertronian kind, often boasting of his prowess and ability to pleasure any frame type. He even jokingly referred to himself as a template for the pleasure bots, all having downloads of his vast experience as part of their training.

“I also wish to place a bet,” Sunstreaker said, already calculating his own winnings, minus the usual fees Grotto retained for his services. 

“For or against yourself?” Grotto asked in amusement, believing the gladiator had innocuously viewed his spike. 

“For, of course,” Sunstreaker said, his hand straying to the blue hips and caressing them in a pleasing manner. Grotto’s optics had hinged on his every movement. “But instead of twenty thousand credits, I wish to up my bet to fifty thousand.”

“Fifty?” Grotto asked in surprise, his greedy spark giving an anticipatory pang. His cut of the winnings would be very substantial. 

“I also have a request that requires the utmost discretion,” Sunstreaker said, getting Grotto’s instant attention.

“Something illegal?” He asked, having purchased several things for Sunstreaker already. The ring leader was a despicable, corrupt, ugsome creature, but he had connections and was scrupulous in his business. “What did you have in mind?”

Sunstreaker shifted the blue femme, his spike escaping her body with an audible pop. He slid off the berth, making a grand gesture of standing like a mortal god, body glistening with fluids. He heard Grotto’s vents hitch, but ignored it. He wanted the mogul’s attention, and he was sure he got it.

“The pleasure slaves no longer offer me proper stimulation, even if they were refitted,” Sunstreaker said, going to the maintenance shelf and grabbing a cloth. He didn’t use it immediately; instead he opted to let it hang loosely in his hand next to his limp spike. 

“I will pay you ten thousand credits for a femme not in the pleasure trade,” Sunstreaker said, wiping at the beaded condensation along his face and neck. Grotto’s optics had followed his movement. When they locked optics, Sunstreaker felt that chill steal over his body again, though his fans were still whirling on high. 

“They are easy enough to find,” Grotto said, his optics darting along the fighter’s lithe body and the glisten of sated power that emanated from his frame.

“I want someone who will be rebellious and not so easily swayed into interfacing.” Sunstreaker reiterated, “I would prefer an untried femme, though I would settle for one with less experience.” 

“An untried?” Grotto repeated, voice heavy with skepticism and intrigue. “They are 'very' hard to find. Most are taken right after their adult confirmation status.”

“She doesn’t have to be untried,” Sunstreaker repeated. “Just someone with less….. 'experience'.”

The green femme stroked the broad chest of the fight mogul, her fingers slipping beneath his protoform covering and caressing the wires with a delicate touch. Grotto grunted, glancing to the femme’s expert handling. He couldn’t understand why anyone would want a berth mate who didn’t know how to please. It was frustrating to have to school another in simple pleasuring techniques. 

“Twenty thousand,” Grotto said, optics now hard as titanium. When he talked business, he didn’t let his libido color his decisions. “It’s going to be difficult finding a feme with limited experience,” he jerked his head toward the emerald femme who was brushing her lips against his shoulder in a lazy kiss. “Going to take some time. And time costs money.”

“Fifteen, and you will get ten thousand up front,” Sunstreaker said, knowing it was going to cost him a nice credit to get the berthmate he desired. But if he was to find the one to let him reach his potential, then her price would be well worth it.

“Deal,” Grotto said, pulling out a datapad from subspace. He typed several codes, securing his transaction data and handed the pad to Sunstreaker, where the gladiator took and studiously ignored the brightening of Grotto’s optics as he neared. Sunstreaker penned his designation on the line and confirmed the transfer from his personal account.

“You will get the last five thousand upon delivery,” Sunstreaker said, placing the cloth over his spike and wiping away the evidence of interfacing.

Sunstreaker jerked his head to the berth and ordered the green femme, “Clean up the mess.”

She bowed in respect and grabbed several cleaning cloths and solvent, setting to work in removing the spilled fluids. She cleaned around her still slumbering companion, her optics envious on the femme who experienced such a processor blowing overload.

The blue femme gave a lazy groan, stirring on the berth. After several failed attempts, she as able to get her optics booted fully and took in the room. Her valve was aching in a way that told her she was going to be tender for quite some time. 

When the sapphire femme swung her legs over the side of the berth, she felt as if her valve was going to retaliate. Primus, she never felt so sore, overtaxed, and exhausted. She ached deep in her core, her structural frame offered pangs of protest as she moved. 

Obediently the blue femme closed her interface cover and got off the berth. She walked with an unsteady gait to Grotto, her face downcast to the floor in respect for her master as she approached him.

“Enjoy yourself?” Grotto asked, giving Sunstreaker a cheeky look. 

“Yes, my master,” she intoned, hiding the wince as her valve gave a particularly nasty throb at the sound of his voice. It knew that voice would be plundering its tenderness soon enough. The thought made her give an involuntary cringe. 

“I’m surprised you can walk,” Grotto continued, using his conversation with the femme to flatter the gladiator now wiping down his interface array. “That was quite the overload.”

“Yes, my master,” she agreed, wanting to hurry up and get the rest of the evening done with so she could tend to her aching valve. 

“How does it feel, servicing a mech such as this?” He waved his arms toward Sunstreaker, who merely scowled at the mogul, finding his words to be more repugnant than flattering. 

“My master employs the most virtuous mechs to enjoy his femmes,” she said, keeping her optics to the floor in submission.

Grotto gave Sunstreaker a waggle of his brow plating, as if the two were sharing an inside joke. Then he turned his attention to the femme, who was in obvious distress from the pain she was undoubtedly feeling.

He motioned to the door in apparent dismissal, though he was really granting her permission to wait for him in his office, where he could revel in the after effects.

As she walked past him, Grotto said, “Be sure to walk slowly. Don’t want to leave a trail of transfluid.”

The statement was made as a double meaning. The femme was to keep her valve closed and contain the mechs transfluid until Grotto decided when to indulge his fantasy, and as more flattery upon Sunstreaker, bestowing the mech with high praise about filling a femme fit to burst. 

“There is precious little to lose,” she said by way of explanation, letting the mogul know there wasn’t going to be much for his strange obsession, but her words stoked the fire in Sunstreaker.

A pale sun burning white with rage stormed across the room. Sunstreaker’s hand clasp around the blue femme’s neck and slammed her against the wall. The impact made a loud clang that reverberated throughout the room and could be heard down the hall. He tightened his fingers around her throat and slid her one-handed up the wall, her body voicing an agonizing screech. 

Her pedes dangled helplessly as she choked on the crushing pressure against her main fuel line. She didn’t need to breath like an organic, but her main processor still needed fresh energon to keep it functioning. She clutched feebly at her throat, her vocalizer sputtering static as it tried to form words for leniency. 

Grotto and the green femme saw a blur of flame burn in their vision before they registered the dark blue of the femme pinned against the wall. She pawed and kicked at her attacker, hoping to dislodge him, but it fueled his flame even higher. 

“Perhaps there would be more available if the valves were satisfactory,” Sunstreaker snarled, his other hand going between her legs.

Roughly his fingers found the edge of her interface cover and gave a mighty wrench, pulling the panel free from its latches. She screamed, her vocalizer pitching to a degree that allowed sound to escape. The neural relays that lined the interface covers fired random bursts in alarm as her valve was unexpectedly exposed.

“Loose,” Sunstreaker snarled, shoving two fingers inside the still wet valve. “Filthy,” he inserted another finger, stretch in the valve a little further. She whimpered against the intrusion, her pain receptors firing so rapidly, her system started to overheat. “Unfulfilling,” another finger joined in, stretching her past the point of endurance. She cried out, the rim threatening to tear against the abuse.

“Worthless drone,” Sunstreaker sneered, his hand disappearing completely inside the femme. She mewed and kicked, trying to remove his hand from her femininity, but Sunstreaker wasn’t relenting. His hand twisted and clasped, fingers brutally kneading, and with a strong jerk, he ripped the tender lining loose from its foundations. 

The femme howled in pain, bucking against him, energon running between her legs as the lining was torn from its anchor and pulled, hanging limply from her valve.

Sunstreaker hit the door controls and with one hand, tossed the screaming femme into the hallway. She was joined by the green femme, who had surprisingly left her master’s side to attend her colleague. 

“Now wait just a minute…” Grotto started before Sunstreaker rounded on him, grasping his throat.

Sunstreaker’s optics were so white they resembled crystals. Heat radiated off his body in waves, giving him a shimmering, holy aspect. He pinned Grotto to the wall, pressing his body close, numb to all else except the fury boiling inside him. Grotto’s optics flared in arousal, sensing the heat coming from the lithe fighter. Sunstreaker tightened his grip on the mogul’s neck, though it was a feat, considering Grotto’s neck was slightly less than the span of Sunstreaker’s hand. Grotto gave a deep throaty purr in submission, presenting himself in a supplicating manner to the more dominate, alpha male. 

The heat rolling off Sunstreaker’s body enough to make Grotto’s paint threaten to blister. Sunstreaker’s spark hammered in its casing so wildly, it nearly hummed. 

Sunstreaker pressed his body almost flush to Grotto, ensuring he had the mogul’s attention. “Find me a suitable femme,” he relaxed his hold on the thick neck, his thumb stroking over the main fuel line that pulsed in time with Grotto’s fuel pump. “And when I have been satisfied, perhaps we can discuss avenues of….. similar pleasures.” 

Sunstreaker’s words had their desired effect. Grotto practically melted under the attention and the buzzing in his processor was making him feeling light headed and dizzy. 

“I will see to it that you are satisfied,” Grotto said, punctuating his words with a look that speared straight into Sunstreaker’s spark.

Sunstreaker felt his ire diminish, his optics sweeping the ugsome mechs countenance and feeling that familiar freeze settle in his struts. His attraction was blatantly obvious, and Sunstreaker had every intention of using the hideous mech’s desires against him. 

“And I promise,” Sunstreaker said, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction when Grotto whimpered wantonly. “I will not be the only one who finds fulfillment.”

Sunstreaker allowed the intimate proximity to sink into the fight mogul’s senses before adding, his tone deep and resonating, “Find me a femme worthy of my berth, and you may expect my….” He paused his olfactory sensor close to Grotto’s. “Gratitude.”

The actions had the desired effect. Grotto’s engine revved in excitement, his interface panel was scorching with restrained need. 

“I suggest you wager heavily,” Sunstreaker added, pressing his advantage. He would later purge his tanks at the closeness he allowed with the loathsome mech, but he did what had to be done to ensure he got what he wanted. “Their accounts will not be the only thing in surplus and I intend on making the crowd sufficiently 'aroused'.”

Grotto felt his systems fire. Not only would his physical desires be fulfilled, but the crowd’s insatiable appetites and Sunstreaker’s uncanny abilities could inflate his credit account into the stratosphere. His spike erupted from its housing, though it didn’t reach far enough to engage the golden mech for attention.

Sunstreaker looked between their bodies, the fat tip of Grotto’s spike waiting patiently for affirmation, but Sunstreaker ignored the less than impressive spike. 

“We will discuss the intimate details after you have provided me with the femme I desire,” Sunstreaker said, his optics burning like stars through the darkness of space. 

Grotto shivered at the implication. If he didn’t find the right femme to satisfy the violent mech, then he wouldn’t receive the satisfaction that had eluded him thus far. It was a sneaky, underhanded thing to do, leaving a mech in such a state and not giving him relief until your demands were met. Grotto felt his attraction double. It was the sort of thing he admired and sought, the characteristic mirroring his own moral code. 

“You have my word, you will be sated,” Grotto said gruffly, his body trembling in the alpha mech’s presence. 

“Good,” Sunstreaker said, releasing the mogul and stepping back. He glanced to the straining spike and added, his voice tinged with righteous disgust and exasperation, “And no one spikes me.”

Grotto gave a simpering whine, his processor threatening to shut down from the sheer prospect of Sunstreaker’s words. “I have a valve. Reformatted a few orns ago, though I rarely use it.”

Sunstreaker suppressed a smirk, figuring it would be typical for the ring leader to reformat his systems to allow a broad spectrum of physical indulgences. The more influential mechs could afford the enhanced valves, giving them more sensation from the additions as opposed to the standard valves installed in the pleasure model mechs. Sunstreaker nodded toward the door in clear dismissal, letting the fight mogul know he wasn’t going to be physically relieved. 

“I suggest you find a femme who can help alleviate your discomfort,” Sunstreaker said, his hand hovering over the locking mechanism to the door.

Defeated, Grotto gave a spastic jerk of his head and exited, feeling the balloon of excitement wither. He made his painful way to his office, where a femme was already waiting, her hands braced against the desk, valve exposed and pale lubricant tainting her thighs. A handful of thrusts and Grotto emptied himself with a roar. She gasped in surprise, both by the intensity of the overload, and the sheer volume of transfluid that overflowed from her valve, puddling on the floor. 

Sunstreaker paced in his room, feeling grimy and oily, and completely disgusted with himself. There was no way in the Pit he was going to put his spike in the loathsome, repugnant ring leader. 

He was on his tenth circuit of the room when the door chimed. Hoping it wasn’t Grotto, Sunstreaker hit the locks and gave a grunt of welcome to the medic. Dutifully he went to the berth and sat down, waiting for the diagnostics. His mood was so sour; he didn’t even feel like torturing the spastic medic.

“I hope you didn’t undo the repairs,” the medic said in an offhanded manner. The room hung heavy with a tangy, ionized scent present only after vigorous interfacing. 

“Perform your scans and leave,” Sunstreaker growled, his mood most dour. 

The medic realized something must have triggered the mech’s fickle temperament and did as instructed. He performed his tests in silence, and when he removed the leads, he gave Sunstreaker an even tone.

“There is little stress to your repairs,” he intoned blandly. “And I can assume you taxed them sufficiently prior to the testing, so in my professional, medical opinion, you are healed well enough to resume training.”

Sunstreaker gave a curt nod, his lip components pressed in a thin line. 

“I will check you again after a couple cycles, and if you continue to show progress, then you will be cleared for participation in the games,” the medic said, looking for a positive reaction after the statement, but Sunstreaker merely skulked, optics narrowed and jaw set. “If there is anything else, I will take my leave. Grotto wishes the femmes to be refitted and has ordered that all must receive a chastity clamp.”

Sunstreaker gave the medic a scowl. “What?”

“After they are refitted, they receive the chastity clamp to prevent interfacing,” the medic replied, stowing his diagnostic scanner in his subspace. “And Grotto demands they remain in place until the games.”

“Keeping them reserved for the high paying clientele,” Sunstreaker muttered, deep in thought. 

Grotto expected him back in the arena soon, and if he was ordering all his femmes to be refitted, he must want to impress the new sponsor. The only down side to the refittings were the fewer femmes there were to entertain, the more aggressive the gladiators were going to be. They were only allowed pleasurable company if they performed well in the arena, and the company was limited with both time and frequency. Grotto demanded his gladiators stay focused on their training and earning accolades and credits. He didn’t want them constantly preoccupied with pleasure bots. 

Sunstreaker was the exception because he was considered a business partner, not property. He could easily take his business elsewhere, and his popularity deemed he would get a higher price than most individuals. He was a walking credit machine, and Grotto was hesitant to do anything to lose his favor. Hence why Sunstreaker had comfortable quarters away from the others, first priority to medical care, unlimited grade energon, and pleasurable company whenever he desired it. His earnings far outweighed his price for luxury. 

“If you don’t mind, I have work to do,” the medic said, hurriedly leaving the mechs quarters. 

Sunstreaker watched the medic leave, and feeling the overwhelming need to beat the slag out of something, he set out to the training area. He commed the cleaning bots and ordered them to sterilize his room, particularly around the berth. 

The thought of what he insinuated to Grotto turned his tanks, and he used the sickening feeling to fuel his movements, engaging the other fighters, all the while, his processor churning over a way to get out of the arrangement. When he returned to his quarters some time later, it was to find his quarters in their regular, immaculate condition. He smiled, making his way to his berth, his body sore and aching. He slipped into recharge and didn’t wake for a long time. 

A few cycles later, Sunstreaker scanned the playbill for the upcoming matches, growling when he found his name near the bottom. He threw the announcement pad across the room with a string of curses. Sunstreaker whirled, his pedes ringing through the metal halls like a death march calling a new victim. He punched in the key sequence in the elevator to take him to Grotto’s office on the upper floor where the merchant performed his day job of being an honest, decent, law abiding citizen. 

Down below his establishment was another realm all together. Very few knew of the elevator’s existence, or the command code to get it operational, but Sunstreaker had access. Not being bound by enslavement protocols, he could come and go as he pleased, though he preferred to remain in the dark underground of the metropolis.

The upper levels were too busy and bright. People always moving, scurrying from one place to another, with no real place to go or lives to live. Nothing memorable about them, their jobs, or their lives. An existence of mediocrity. That type of existence wasn’t for Sunstreaker. He didn’t do well surrounded or working with others. 

Yet here, in the underground arena, legends were born. Sunstreaker used a moniker, like everyone else, a chance at being anonymous yet still a name to be feared, He always exuded an aura of fear and power, dominance and cruelty. And one was guaranteed a very entertaining match when the gladiator entered the arena.

When Sunstreaker got to Grotto’s office he slammed his fist against the control panel as way of announcement before throwing the door open. Grotto sputtered, choking on his warmed energon being drank from a rare form of Praxian crystal, his optics wide. No doubt he believed Security Response was breaking down his door. He marginally relaxed when he recognized Sunstreaker.

“Ah, my favorite fighter,” he smiled, lowering his glass and giving the fuming gladiator a beaming smile that looked more threatening than welcoming. “What can I do for you?”

“Fifth billing?” Sun demanded, his voice cracking like a whip.

Grotto visibly flinched, his smile faltering. 

“There is a reason...” he stared, but Sunstreaker cut him off.

“Explain this insult,” Sunstreaker growled, stepping into the room and shutting the door with a snap. “Leniency isn’t something I grant for treachery.”

Grotto felt his fuel pump hammer like a wild thing, knowing he was locked in with a mindless, sparkless killer. His chance of surviving until the end of business day, fractionally slim. 

“Well, you see, it’s rather ingenious,” Grotto said, his optics getting that glint that meant he was talking serious. The effect was ruined by his nervous chuckles. “Word has leaked out that you had major repairs.”

“What?” Sunstreaker part yelled, part growled, his engine vibrating with a rough idle. His fists were clenched at his sides. Not a good indication for continued health for the object of his ire. 

“It was intentional,” Grotto said, taking a step back from the gladiator. “I put you on low billing, giving you three amateur fighters. Everyone will think you’re compromised and place bets against you. With the odds stacked in your opponents favor, your victory will be not only be unexpected, but quite lucrative.”

Sunstreaker vented low, his optics narrowing as he considered what Grotto said. Yes, if hosts and vendors believed him compromised, and with giving him opponents that were technically far below his caliber, then it would seem that Sunstreaker was unable to take on more skilled fighters, giving the illusion of his hesitancy to rejoin the fights. If he and Grotto placed high wages on him, and he won, which there was no doubt, then they would make a small fortune. Not that Sunstreaker needed any more. His credits were already stacked quite well, but it never hurt to have a little extra, just in case. He may be a fighter with the perceived intelligence of a drone, but he was quite frugal and careful with his income. 

“And how did this information get out?” Sunstreaker asked, now rubbing his jaw in thought.

Grotto’s optics twinkled with light, a clear indication his brilliant, scheming intelligence was at work. “One of my slaves 'accidentally' let it slip that you had been to the medics, and a simple inquiry will validate the rumors. What they don’t know is, I hacked the data files and added a few ‘addictions’ to your repair schematics.”

Sunstreaker cocked an optic ridge in surprise. Grotto certainly knew his stuff. 

“As long as you are genuinely able to return, then I see no problem with your coming victory,” Grotto said, his face shining with hope.

Sunstreaker curled his lip, a warning growl vibrating his armor. “Are you questioning the assessment of my rehabilitation?”

“No, never!” Grotto said, his hands coming up in front of himself in a defensive manner. He knew he’d overstepped his bounds with the gladiator, quickly he backpedaled his words. “I’m just padding the part. Making it look good. Like I would question your ability and felt unsure about your return. It’s all a ruse to make everyone think you are compromised. Makes the bookkeepers add a few extra points against you, that way they have a chance to earning a few extra credits for your perceived loss.”

“I am sufficiently healed,“ Sunstreaker reiterated, his optics darkening in warning. Playing the part was one thing. Acting like it was true was sure to get you slagged. 

“I only wish to manipulate the bookkeepers and those betting against you,” Grotto said, his face morphing from fear to bashful admiration. “I would never suggest you are unfit or unable to fight.”

“Good,” Sunstreaker said, his optics glinting in a way that sent trembles through the fight mogul’s frame. “Because I would have to prove otherwise, by any means necessary. 'No one' questions my abilities.”

“Exactly,” Grotto said, finding it hard to vent properly. When Sunstreaker made to leave, Grotto called, “Wait!”

Sunstreaker turned in slow motion, the overhead light catching his gilded armor and giving him the aspect of a powerful deity. His voice was low and grating, adding to the mysticism. “What?”

“Just wanted to update you on your special delivery,” Grotto said, feeling a pang of joy when Sunstreaker’s optics brightened. “My mechs are scouring cities searching for a potential femme to suit your needs.”

Sunstreaker was silent for a moment, deep in thought. His engine gave an unconscious rev at the thought that he would soon have a femme worthy of him. His thoughts were interrupted by Grotto. 

“I promise, you will be satisfied,” he said, his face twisting with open lust.

Sunstreaker had been thinking about how to get out of his agreement with Grotto for the past few cycles, and he finally formulated a solution.

“I better be, or I won’t be the only one that will be disappointed,” he sneered, flexing his body in an underlying threat. 

Grotto got the hint. If Sunstreaker didn’t find fulfillment, then he wouldn’t be sharing the gladiator’s berth. He silently cursed to himself, finding his internal temperature rise with his spike. 

Sunstreaker canted his head, his face bright with dangerous promise, and took his leave. When the door snapped shut behind him, he shuddered, feeling as if his body was doused in freezing waters. He could have sworn his spike shrunk in its housing. No matter what femme Grotto presented, Sunstreaker vowed to find something wrong with her. And he would continue to complain and balk on his end of the bargain in the hopes that Grotto would lose interest. Well, he secretly doubted the ugsome mech would, but he could still hope.

Sunstreaker sparred with the other mechs over the next couple of cycles, keeping his movements loose, his strength in check. He didn’t want to hurt the other fighters who would be engaging opponents in the upcoming matches. Attacks weren’t vicious, but rang with enough force to keep their bodies in top form. If they wanted to earn credits, and possible company for their victories, then they had to perform well. 

Sunstreaker could understand and respect that, hence why he didn’t send any to the medic. All the while, the voice in the back of his processor sang a soft lullaby of happiness, knowing that soon, everything was coming to completion.


	7. Chapter Seven

00000-----ooooo-----00000-----ooooo-----000000

When darkness fell over the face of Cybertron, Sunstreaker and the others boarded their transport, following their leader with blind faith. When they disembarked, they made their way through the labyrinth to the underground arena that Grotto was to share with two other handlers. Grotto led the way, followed by his assortment of pleasure bots, all brightly polished and chastity clamps removed. Sunstreaker followed behind, leading the gladiatorial contingent and ensuring none of the fighters grabbed a femme and sampled her body before the paying customers. The gladiators would get their chance after the paying the guests. 

First, the gladiators had to fight and win, and then earn the opportunity to berth the pleasure bots. More than one had wanted to taste the fresh valves that sauntered at the front of the group, but Sunstreaker’s growl of warning kept the mechs at bay. 

They gave him dirty looks and icy optics, but held their vocalizers. They all may be employees of Grotto, but Sunstreaker could pummel them into the ground if they didn’t maintain the proper status quo. Sunstreaker had sent many to the medic, and Grotto never punished the free mech for any perceived transgressions. 

Sunstreaker was the unnamed leader of their group, and if they wanted to keep in good health, they would obey his commands and heed his warnings. He was what the gladiators all aspired to become, if they fought hard and earned enough credits to purchase their freedom. 

Why Sunstreaker stayed in the employ of the fight mogul, none of them understood. Sunstreaker wasn’t bound by slavery protocols and could come and go as he pleased, but they were all bound to the gladiatorial ringleader, their lives just another commodity. Why anyone would come willingly into the darkness, no one could fathom.

Grotto led his contingent onto a viewing stage, opposite two others, lining his pleasurable wares to the front, the gladiators taking their place behind, admiring the displays. As was his habit, Sunstreaker positioned himself at the far end, set apart from the others. Two other platforms were filled with the other representatives in the fight, the new sponsor appraising each pleasure bot and gladiator equally before moving on to the next. 

Sunstreaker eyed the new mech who was sponsoring the event for the evening. He had wide, elegant door wings, dark blue optics, and a muted color scheme of blue and gray. Definitely Praxian. Sunstreaker narrowed his gaze, appraising the mech who was evaluating the fighters and pleasure bots that were going to participate in his venue. He thought it odd the Praxian was hosting such an event. They were notorious for finding blood sport to be gruesome and uncouth, demeaning and woefully disgusting. 

When the Praxian greeted Grotto on the end of his platform, Sunstreaker innocuously watched him, taking in his movements and mannerisms and when he neared, Sunstreaker listened to the smooth, cultured voice for any signs of deception. Most Praxian models were used by Security Response, though there were the spare few that found the public domain distasteful. If he presented any falsehood, Sunstreaker would comm. Grotto and apprise him of the possible danger.

As the duo made their way down the line of pleasure slaves, the Praxian paying particular interest in the pink femme that had serviced Sunstreaker during his rehabilitation, a dark orange mech sauntered onto the other end of the stage, oblivious to one of the unspoken rules of the arena. 

Everyone knew when the venue host was examining the wares, and placing orders for possible company, then everyone else had to remain at a distance until their transactions were complete. Then, when the hosts were finished, the financial elite were granted access to place their orders. Everything was done according to caste and wealth status. 

The orange mech lumbered onto the stage, his optics set on the sapphire blue femme that had her valve torn by Sunstreaker’s digits. He was quickly joined by his bondmate, a thin purple femme with a smashed in olfactory sensor and an aristocratic poise about her frame.

“This one,” he said with a leer at the blue femme, who merely gazed back with gentle optics. 

“Oh, I would like that one,” his bondmate said, heading straight for Sunstreaker at his normal position at the far end. She stood in front of him, appraising his physique in open lust, her glossa pressed between her denta in hunger. 

“Unable to comply at this time,” Sunstreaker said in a flat tone. It was an unspoken explanation that if a gladiator was unable to perform certain berthroom activities, they would say they were unable to comply, without drawing attention to their disability, or offending the one paying to berth them.

She frowned, looking very put out, but turned to the pleasure mech directly in front of him. She eyed his frame, the near identical golden plating, and asked, “What about you?”

“I can perform whatever my master requires,” he said in a deep voice that made the purple femme purr. She latched onto his side and called to her bondmate, “I want this one!”

The Praxian arched an optic ridge but didn’t voice an objection to the duo enamored with the pleasure slaves. He had to admit, this handler did have some nice specimens of pleasure bots and top fighters. Too bad the lithe fighter in the back seemed incapable of berthing someone. He was quite gorgeous. 

“I do apologize,” Grotto said to the Praxian, who held up a hand in a non-offended gesture. 

“It is understandable,” the Praxian said in a deep baritone that earned more than one appraising optic from the pleasure slaves. “You do have exceptional wares to offer.”

Everyone noted the way his optics strayed over the assembled crowd, lighting on Sunstreaker for just a second before roving along the line. His focused stayed on the pleasure slaves, knowing the fighters would have the opportunity to be purchased for pleasure after their assigned bouts. But only if they won and were healthy enough for interfacing. 

Grotto gave a polite, respective bow and greeted the duo now arguing over how many times they were going to interface with the pleasure bots. 

The orange mech gave Grotto a lopsided smile before pointing to the sapphire femme. “How much? And I don’t want something not worth the credits.”

“Feel free to examine her yourself,” Grotto said with an oily smile.

The orange mech started, apparently never having been proposed with such a thing before. Without preamble he shoved his hand between the blue thighs and was rewarded with an audible click as her valve cover retracted. His fingers pushed inside, finding the tautness of a new valve. His optics widened, his face brightening as he turned to his bondmate, who appraised her mech of choice.

“Present yourself,” she commanded him.

His interface panel slid aside allowing his spike to pressurize in a lazy, seductive manner. The purple femme gave a cry of delight, her fingers wrapping around the girth and examining the length.

“Oh yes, we will take them,” she said, her optics fixed on the spike in her hand.

Grotto called up the two pleasure slaves files and added their total for their services and handed the datapad to the orange mech. Without looking at the total he transmitted his payment and grasped the blue femme by the wrist, his bondmate and her slave mech following behind. The couple took their seats near the front of the stands, and without preamble, the purple femme sat her mech into place, retracted her valve cover, turned and impaled herself on his length. Her bondmate growled in arousal, pushing the blue femme forward, where her lips were captured by his purple bondmate. He watched his mate being pleasured by the mech, her hips in constant motion as she engaged his blue slave in a demanding kiss. He slid his hand over the blue aft and gave it a slap, chuckling when she moaned against the glossa invading her mouth. He buried his spike in the new valve, hissing from the lubricated tightness that greeted his entry. 

Grotto returned to the Praxian, who had observed the exchange with mild interest. Grotto bowed and groveled for forgiveness and understanding, but the Praxian smiled as the couple enjoyed their mutual purchase. His engine gave a tiny rev when the purple femme screamed her overload, her body going lax against the mech still buried inside her. 

“No apologies required,” the Praxian said, optics a little overly bright as his attention went back to the fight mogul. He motioned toward the assemblage and asked, “Do you always allow a sample of your goods?”

“Only way to ensure satisfaction is to let the customer know what they are getting before they pay for it,” Grotto said, inflating with pride. He was the only one that offered such a thing. 

As if to test the ring leader’s boast, the Praxian turned to the pleasure slaves and said, “Present yourselves.”

The mechs retracted their interface panels and allowed their spikes to pressurize in a near perfect military display. The femmes looked curiously to one another, unsure how they were supposed to present themselves, until one turned around and bent over, her valve cover retracting to show the slitted entrance. The other femmes were quick to mirror her actions, all presenting the new, tiny valves for inspection.

“Very nice,” the Praxian muttered, evaluating each slave in turn. His engine idled in anticipation as he examined the delectable valves. This handler definitely had the most attractive slaves. It would be difficult to choose any one above another for his company. 

Grotto raised his voice, allowing others to overhear. “All of my pleasure slaves just received new valve fittings.”

More than one head turned at the announcement, and once they noticed how the femmes were displayed, over half the crowd ventured to the edge of the platform, their optics molesting the obviously fresh valves ready for taking. 

Valve refittings were very expensive. Most owners refused to pay for the service because it meant a lengthy rehabilitation along with the expense. If the slaves weren’t offering their bodies, then they weren’t making credits. If they weren’t making credits, they were no longer useful. To have a slave refitted meant the owner not only paid big credits, but also endured the financial strain during the healing time. But it also meant the slaves were tight and fresh, allowing them to have a higher price for their services. 

The Praxian nodded to the assembled slaves, his engine giving a throttling rev when he noticed that the valves did indeed looked innocent. “I will take the pink and the red femmes for my company this evening.” The two femmes returned upright and strode to his side, awaiting further instruction.

“Since you generously hosted this event, I will give you a discount,” Grotto said, earning a surprised look from the Praxian that quickly morphed into a pleased smile. 

“I also wish to schedule your slaves for a party I am hosting in a few cycles,” the Praxian looked across the sea of bland faces until it alighted on Sunstreaker’s intent stare. “I will employ 'all' of them. I want my guests to be satisfied.”

Sunstreaker’s optics narrowed, his fists curling at his side at the insinuation he was to be included in the upcoming festivities. He knew the Praxian had heard his declaration of non-compliance. His optics flared in anger, watching as the Praxian slid his hands over the femme’s supple curves and gently massaged their afts, his intention quite clear.

“We can cater to all your needs,” Grotto said, giving Sunstreaker a look that clearly said ‘Don’t-be-so-hostile-I‘m-doing-business-here.’ 

“The last party I attended, the slaves were mediocre in appearance and,” the Praxian looked at the displayed pleasure ports, his engine giving a slight rev as the feigned purity. “Were unable to appease those of us with sophisticated taste.”

“All of the valves will be nice and tight. You have my guarantee,” Grotto said, letting the crowd overhear the conversation. Several heads perked up, their optics keeping focused on the port that seemed the best. They waited at the edge of the stage for the Praxian to finish his business so they could take their turn.

The Praxian put his arms around the pink and red waists, the femmes molded against his body and allowed him to steer them off stage. As soon as the Praxian was off the stage, mechs and femmes clamored up, each demanding they were the next customer. It took a long time to sort out the payments, and soon everyone was mingling in the crowd to their assignments. The newly refitted pleasure slaves were in high demand, their counterparts from the other handlers giving them contemptuous looks as they allowed their bodies to be taken, the customer’s reaching new peaks of overload and slumping against the seats. Some customers preferred to parade around the crowd, showing off their recent acquirement and making sure their fellow spectators learned of the newly installed valves. More than half of the gladiators had been added to the mix, their services scheduled before their matches by clients who wanted to be handled by rough hands and feral demeanors. 

Grotto’s pleasure bots all remained impassive, offering seductive smiles and whimpering moans when needed. When they fulfilled their client they would disappear beneath the stands, where flushing stations would clean and polish them before sending them back out to find and entertain the next customer on their list. The mechs with valve reformats were new to entertaining in such numbers and were unaccustomed to the fast paced service of voracious clientele. Many were seen limping into the haven of shadows beneath the stands, slow to return.

Sunstreaker stayed in the shadows, unobtrusively scanning the crowd. His optics darted from one patron to another, watching as they enjoyed their purchases to varying degrees. Some of the pleasure slaves from the other handlers were wandering the crowd, hoping to entice a client. Sunstreaker snorted, realizing they weren’t receiving many offers. Most spectators had waved them away, presenting their purchase slip with Grotto’s slave number assigning them to one or more of the refitted valves. One mech waved six slips in his chubby servos, fanning them luridly at the less than pristine pleasure bots. 

As the transfluid started to flow, so too did the high grade. Merchants started weaving their dizzying patterns through the crowd, yelling their price and waving small multicolored cubes that caught the minimal light with dazzling effect. 

Illegal high grade and concoctions mixed with all manner of additives, some questionable and possibly incompatible to Cybertronian systems, were in high demand and ingested without hesitation. More than one spectator had terminated after the games because of something they ingested during the festivities. But the possible danger never deterred those indulging.

Sunstreaker saw the emerald green femme he previously berthed being jostled by two rowdy mechs, each taking a turn of sliding their hand between her thighs. She demurely purred at the attention, her legs opening to accommodate the first mech who purchased her wiles. 

A sturdy white mech forced her back against the seat, spreading her legs wide as his companion, a thin black and silver mech, purchased a glowing cube. He handed the cube to the emerald femme, and together, he and his companion knelt between her open legs. She poured a small steady stream of energon over her valve and didn’t bother restraining the cries that escaped as they lapped at the energon mixing with the lubricant flowing from her tight valve. Their glossa fought for dominance, hungrily suckling the tainted energon and the distinct feminine lubricant, creating a heady nectar that had both mechs extending their spikes. The femme overloaded from the attention, and as she trembled in ecstasy, the black and silver mech sat beside her, picked her up and positioned her valve over his spike. With one quick motion he buried himself inside, the femme mewing against the sensation. The white mech grabbed the near empty cube from her hand, downed the last bit of energon, then positioned himself against her valve. As his companion withdrew, he pressed their spikes together and as a unit, both sheathed themselves inside the tight heat. The femme gave a lusty cry from the dual penetration, her head falling back on the black and silver mech’s shoulder as the duo began to move as one. 

Sunstreaker snorted, knowing that the femme was going to be needing a new valve again if she kept entertaining such enthusiastic clients. His attention wandered over the sea of faces and the flash of multicolored paint caught his attention. A group of six mechs, each painted with flashy displays of rainbow fireworks, were haggling with a high grade merchant, finally settling on a price and grabbing their cubes from his tray. 

Two of them purchased odd colored energon and clinked their cubes, toasting themselves before downing the liquid in one swallow. They jerked and sputtered, before tossing their heads back and laughing. One twitched and signaled for another round, the high grade merchant smiling as his inventory quickly dwindled. 

Sunstreaker eyed the group with wary optics, having never seen them attend an event before. A lot faces he recognized, but like with all things, new faces were brought in. It not only staved the monotony but it also opened up a whole new world of potential clients to the illegal underground. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, downing enough high grade to stall out most frames. Sunstreaker raised an optic ridge in admiration. The mechs certainly could put it away. They signaled for one of the betting mechs to join them and credits were exchanged amid lurid comments between the firework mechs, one slapped his comrade across the aft and earned a hearty round of laughter.

The first thing one learned when attending the underground world of illegal activities was never to speak of them with someone you didn’t completely trust. All it took was one person to open their vocalizer and before one could blink, Security Response would be swarming the illegal underground arenas. And no one wanted to be known as the one who brought the authorities in and ruined all the fun. That type of attention not only shunned loose vocalizers from future events, but the elitists distanced themselves from such individuals, eventually ending their careers or financial endeavors. 

One didn’t mess with the entertainment for the upper class. It was a sure fire way to earn yourself a trip to the underground world as one of its enslaved refugees.

Sunstreaker had a feeling that some of the Security Response Guards already knew where the fighting rings were located, they just chose to ignore them in favor of lined accounts for looking the other way. Most didn’t want to spoil the fun, their own desires discreetly quenched by the forbidden delicacies that simmered in the underground. Vicious yearnings for more ravenous sport, illegal substances, and all forms of lust were appeased in the dark underground world that society frowned upon.

The fights were never simply about life blood spilled and someone walking away the victor. It was about shedding inhibitions, immersing in the sinful pleasures life had to offer, and losing yourself in the heat of the moment either by physical pleasure, or blood shed. To lose yourself in the wickedness that society demanded be suppressed, exiling those who lost themselves in the excessive decadence.

Death matches had a habit of bringing in more spectators, not only because of the macabre nature, but the added bonus that the venue host of the evening was allowed to berth the winner for an extended period, injuries allowing. Usually those matches were few, but not for lack of trying by the social elite. 

The higher the attendance, the better the chances security response would get involved, and most didn’t want to take the chance. Everyone attending the illegal fights could be held in contempt of life and quite easily be sold into enslavement or face termination. 

Just the thought of such an outcome would turn many helms to such lowly endeavors, but there some who excelled in such dire circumstances. Just like Sunstreaker. 

A couple of rows away, another mech sniffed and sampled his high grade with all the pompous air of a socialite, his servants sitting beside him mirroring his demeanor of nonchalance. A row above them, four mechs were spiking pleasure bots, their focus on trying to overload first to win a bet between them. One by one they succumbed, slumping over their conquests, each slave patiently waiting for them to reboot. A mech on the row above took advantage of the slumbering mechs and slipped his spike into one of the pleasure bots open mouth, getting a free sample at someone else’s expense. 

Sunstreaker smirked as the spectators’ pampering, their insatiable desires finding fulfillment that wasn’t found on the surface. He pandered to them as well. He fought for them, took their credits, basked in their admiration but he refused to berth any of them. It was matter of principle. He wasn’t a pleasure slave and he refused to be treated as someone’s property. It also added to his intrigue and allowed him to demand higher credits for his next match. One never knew if he would change his mind and be a willing participant to their berth. Sometimes one just had to find the right price, and their treasures would fall into their berths, panels open. 

Grotto went the golden mech his datapad warm from the excess use.

“You know, if you entertained, you could fetch a higher price than ever recorded,” Grotto said casting an appraising optic to Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker continued to scowl watching as the crowd enjoyed their purchases, shouting in overload rather too quickly in Sunstreaker’s opinion. Course he was not one to judge, rarely enjoying such a release.

“I am not a drone that lives to do the bidding of a false master,” Sunstreaker said, his optics finding the Praxian and watching as he went to his private booth and directed the pink femme’s head into his lap. His optics shuttered as his head fell back, his hand cradling her head as her talented oral cavity performed its magic on his spike. Sunstreaker’s own spike gave a twitch in memory. 

“Yes, I know,” Grotto said, a deep purr coming from his engine, “You don’t berth just anyone.”

When most of the crowd was buzzing in post overload euphoria, the announcer motioned for the mobile stages to be taken away and the protection grids to be activated in front of the crowd. The force fields became necessary when flying limbs would careen toward the paying customers. Not only could they be dangerous to someone not expecting such a thing and unable to duck in time, but a lot of the hands still clutched very dangerous weapons. So a small force field was erected around the ring, ensuring that the spilled energon and severed limbs would remain in the pit. 

Sunstreaker sequestered himself in the recessed area that sheltered the fighters from the arena. Several of the mechs mingled about, stretching and flexing their bodies in preparation for their coming match. The announcer called the first match to begin, the bet takers darting from patron to patron, taking their wagers and handing them claim slips

The first match was over rather quickly. One misstep and the gladiator went down, his knee buckling under his weight and twisting in an odd angle giving his opponent opportunity to swipe across his chest and severe an arm. The wounded warrior was escorted out of the pit by a medic while the winner stood triumphant, basking in the screams and adoration of the spectators. 

The minimum energon during the exchange was mopped up as the commentator started the bidding, allowing the audience a chance to berth the winning gladiator. Two mechs won, congratulating each other on their combined purchase and together they escorted the gladiator to a private booth. 

The second bout was a bit longer than the first, the two combatants equally matched. Energon poured from their wounds, though none of them was life threatening. Self repair protocols initiated allowing the mechs to focus on trying to disarm or maim their opponent. With a sickening screech of metal on metal, one mech was nearly cleaved in two. His upper body wobbled, unable to stabilize due to severed cables, and with a mouthful of energon, he forfeited the match. 

While the attendants cleaned the spillage of energon, the intermissions were also used as a time for selling slaves, usually those who owed a lot of money and were sold into the slave trade by their in debtors, be they commercial business or private enterprise. Like the gladiators their bodies were sold, though there was the possibility for added humiliation of interfacing in public as their first introduction into the slave trade. They were secured on any number of immobilizing devices, displaying them in front of the crowd, then the bids were placed. Whoever bid the highest was allowed to interface the restrained new slave, introducing them into their way of life before their enslavement programming was installed, making them subservient and detached, obedient and subjugating. 

As the attendants rushed to clean up the spilled energon, the announcer directed everyone’s attention to a small portable platform off to the side. A large mech carried a tiny femme in his arms and deposited her on the display dais. Her wrists were bound to the outside of her ankles on each side, a restraining yoke pressed against her neck with a linked chain that kept her legs open. The position allowed everyone to view her valve, her interface panel retracted and locked into position to prevent its closing.

The announcer started the bidding, describing the femme’s previous employment at a factory that had since cut back on its employees. The femme had no means of support, so when she was unable to pay her debts, she was sold into the slave world. Her optics were dull, lifeless, her fate already sealing her to a quiet world of desperation. 

The handlers gave the femme a mixed review. She wasn’t anything of note, other than having a very small, feminine frame. Her valve had a little promise, but with the air of utter defeat about her, its promise seemed just as worthless. Grotto placed a low bid, not really caring if he won or not, his focus on more promising endeavors than a beaten femme. Sunstreaker shook his head at her defeated countenance and downed some energon at the dispenser that was located at the back of the alcove. He was careful not to overcharge himself before his coming match. He wanted energy, not get drunk and then defeated.

In the end a newly arrived noble mech seated in the front row purchased the femme. When the femme was taken to his seat, he waved her away from him in disdain, ordering two of his servants to attend her in his private transport. A spot light fell on him, granting the audience a chance to applaud his purchase, but he barely inclined his head in acknowledgement. 

The lights dimmed and the commentator called for the third match to begin. Sunstreaker ventured back to the observation alcove, his optics scanning over the individuals who screamed for blood and disfigurement.

The third match was gruesome and long, much to the sinful delight of the crowd. Four mechs were paired off testing each other, their moves perfect and fluid. It took several strikes, but one duo bested the other, removing a leg, a hand, and two arms in the process. During intermission as the energon was cleaned and body parts removed, the two winners stood covered in energon, their optics overly bright, their bodies sporting numerous wounds but none life threatening. The force fields were lowered, allowing them to be viewed for potential bidders.

The announcer stood alone on the dais his voice thundering above the chants and screams, offering the chance to berth the winners. The social elite shrieked their desires, waving their hands for attention and placing bets, each trying to outdo the other and be the one to share the berth with the filthy, roguish gladiators still painted in their victims lifebood. 

Sunstreaker stayed in the shadows, his optics scanning the spectators. He saw the Praxian in his private both, his hands steadying the pink femme as she rode his spike while the red femme played with his fluttering doorwings. His optics were closed, his mouth working though unable to form coherent words.

Two of the firework painted mechs that shared several rounds of illegal high grade were passed out, regurgitated energon staining their heaving chassis as their systems tried to filter the tainted concoctions. Sunstreaker shook his head at them, disgust churning his tank. His optics roamed over the sea of faces, finding all of them to be distinctly unattractive, their faces screwed up in anger and yearning, all trying to jostle for the best price to berth a gladiator. 

Until one individual caught Sunstreaker’s critical optic.

A stately mech in white and pale blue captured Sunstreaker’s notice, his paint displaying the same care and craftsmanship to rival Sunstreaker’s own. His attention was drawn to a few mechs who seemed to be arguing over the slaves that had been purchased for their entertainment. The regal mech rolled his optics at their bickering and turned his gaze to the arena as the two recent winners paraded like caged animals in front of the demanding crowd to vamp their price. 

The crowd surged, roaring its approval as the gladiators retracted their panels and allowed their spikes to pressurize, coaxing the bidders trying to claim them. The number neared an impressive sum, though Sunstreaker had heard the numbers go much higher. He noted the noble mech gave an appraising optic to the two gladiators as they relinquished their weapons to their handlers and joined the crowd, going to the ones who bought their favors. 

One gladiator went with a mech and femme to a private booth for their discreet indulges. The other gladiator was purchased by one of the firework displayed mechs who still functioned, though he swayed by unknown currents. He muttered a few words to the gladiator and as the crowd mingled for fresh drinks and more slaves, the gladiator roughly spun the mech around, bent him over the one of his unconscious brethren, and started to thrust so violently he lost his bearing and went colliding head first into his unconscious kin. 

Sunstreaker pulled his attention away, his optics straying back to the immaculate mech who had been watching the gladiatorial purchase. He was regarding his comrades, who had figured out the arrangement and were positioning their femmes for interface. 

The mech sighed, uninterested, motioning a slave to bring him a drink. With a nod a small yellow femme extracted an expensive looking vial from her subspace and poured a bright pink concoction to the brim. The mech drank deeply then shooed the femme away, retaking his seat as the force fields were reactivated. He ignored his friends’ vigorously interfacing around him, his attention drawn to the arena and the next fighters that stepped out. He appraised them in turn, and with a bored look, his gaze wandered over the sea of spectators.

Sunstreaker returned to the sheltered alcove, observing the fight. He hissed as energon splattered his frame from a wicked blow that sent an opponents arm flying toward the stands. Luckily the force shield prevented its continued journey and it landed with a sickening crunch on the floor. Sunstreaker polished himself, removing the traces off lifeforce spilled. The crowd cheered, chanted designations and cries of dismemberment. The volume of their thirst didn’t reach Sunstreaker’s audios. It was a common sound to him now. Background noises to a busy world full of monotony and safety. There was something special about the underground world. The lack of caring, the cruel bite of reality, the hardened edges that others tried to blur and soften to mask their own existence. None of that mattered. 

The match ended rather abruptly. Both mechs got in last minute hits, disabling both parties from further combat. They glared at each other, the chants and screams fueling their anger. Both were helped off the out of the arena to be attended to by their respective medics. 

A special battle was called, one that was designed by the three handlers who assigned their gladiators to the unique fight. Six fighters stepped into the spotlight, their armor dull and bleak, their weapons specialized for each individual. They circled one another, assessing, calculating, looking for a weakness to strike. 

Sunstreaker stretched, getting himself ready for his match that was after the unique gladiatorial show going on. 

No one was taking sides or partnering up to overcome any one opponent. They fought against each other equally.

One combatant went down easily as both pedes were severed from his body. Unable to stand he presented the sign of surrender, letting the other mechs know he wasn’t a contender any longer. They barely acknowledge his submission and continued with their fight, exchanging blows and insults. Another mech went down, his arm missing and energon spraying from the wound like a fountain. He submitted, stumbling drunkenly before collapsing. The injured had to wait until the match was over before all barriers were lowered, allowing the medics to attend them or for the winner to be auctioned to berth. 

Another mech went down, his chest plates skewered, energon trickling out of his wounds in a thin line. The energon loss wasn’t the most worrisome part of his injury. The deep cut on his chest could mean spark chamber breech. 

The last three mechs circled each other, sporting various degrees of wounds. One forgot about the other downed fighters, all three unable to move from their fallen places, and ended up tripping over a deposited weapon. He stumbled, trying to catch his balance, but couldn’t block the swipe at his knee and arm. His knee was grazed, but his arm was severed, landing with a twitch next to the fallen weapon in silent mockery. The crowd surged to their feet, chanting for the last two remaining combatants. Amongst their cries of delight were demands that two be deemed the joint winners, allowing the highest bidder to taste the cruelty of their match still upon their bodies. When their handlers nodded in agreement the announcer called their joint victory, both gladiators giving each other nods of respect before turning their attention to the awaiting patron that would submit to having a gladiator’s mark upon their bodies.

One gladiator went to two femmes, opting to interface with him in the stands, his spike and oral cavity ravenous upon their elite femininities. The second gladiator was won by the purple femme and her orange bondmate. With a smug look she reclined her seat, allowing the gladiator to dominate her while her bondmate kneeled close by, his spike demanding oral attention. 

The announcer called for the arena attendants to clear the space for the next match and directed the audience’s attention to the display platform once again. A mech was brought in, securely restrained, his arms and legs extended from his body in the shape of an “X”. He bore a scorch mark of shame, his brand meaning he had incurred huge gambling debts. 

The announcer prattled on about the mechs attributes, citing his obvious lithe physique and excellent social skills. He skirted around the issue of who would be benefiting from his sale. Those kind of details were never needed nor sought. He was merely a slave, meant to be bought and sold at his master’s leisure. 

Sunstreaker watched Grotto examine the new slave. He was thin, not that bad looking, though a little on the weak side. He would barely reach Sunstreaker’s shoulder in height. He could still fetch a few credits with a valve reformatting. All mech pleasure slaves were reformatted for any manner of entertainment. It was part of their service. 

The mech’s vocalizer was muted, preventing him from pleading for mercy or demanding his release as potential buyers looked him over. He was now to be sold to the highest bidder, his input no longer counted. 

The mech wiggled on the table, trying to extract himself, but to no avail. The bonds of servitude was absolute, he just had to realize that his life was no longer his own. 

Bidding started, the fight moguls trying to swell their ranks, though hoping for a bargain price. If there was a chance to increase their ranks with a good prospect, they weren’t going to let their competition get all the good ones. They had reputations to uphold. If they didn’t get decent bots to work the venues, then the elitist would find something else to indulge their sicknesses. If you wanted to keep them happy, you had to spend a few credits to get something good to rouse their spirits as well as their desires. 

Sunstreaker snorted, realizing the mech wasn’t getting a lot of bids. Most saw his diminutive nature as a draw back, having only any real need for strong, well built sturdy mechs for most lines of work. Grotto made another bid, watching with satisfaction as his competitor shook his head, refusing to offer higher for the whelp. Grotto scanned through his inventory, always mindful of keeping a well balanced slave list. Though the valve refittings had set him back, especially since the pleasure bots had to heal a few cycles, leaving all Grotto’s employees in a burly sate of processor, he still had some capitol to work with. The expense had been well worth it. Grotto had nearly doubled his usual intake and was verging on tripling his income. He felt his giddiness rise as he realized Sunstreaker was up next. The mech certainly knew how to please, both with appreciation to deadly form and poetry of motion. And he wasn’t bad to look at. Many purchased a slave to watch Sunstreaker’s match, most already familiar with the elusive gladiator who never berthed a bidder.

Grotto won the slave, earning an appreciative clap and a few hoots of mockery from the crowd. Apparently the wealthy spectators didn’t see any potential in the thin minibot.

“In honor of our esteemed host,” Grotto said, looking into the main private booth that secluded the Praxian and his two femme companions. The Praxian nodded in affirmation and Grotto continued, “I will allow the crowd to enjoy a free demonstration.”

Grotto motioned off stage and the emerald green femme sauntered onto the small dais, swaying her hips and gaining the bound mech’s side. Grotto raised his voice over the catcalls of the crowd, “My slave will entertain our esteemed guests by allowing the new slave to spike her.”

The crowd roared in instant approval, enjoying the thought of being so intimately entertained. The new mech didn’t have a valve, so his new master decided he would berth a femme publicly. The two attendants who handled the new slaves, lowered the restraining device to allow the femme leverage to ride the spike for the viewing audience.

With Grotto’s nod to continue, the femme bowed in respect to her master, then to the Praxian, who had been watching with interest, then turned her attention to the wide optic mech. He shook his head, trying to inform the femme he wasn’t interested in spiking her in front of an audience, but his pleas went unanswered. Without a word she retracted her valve cover, and climbed onto the restraining table, presenting her freshly flushed valve for full viewing. 

Grotto had chosen her for her talent at enticing a crowd. He watched with lust filled optics as she performed her sultry best.

She kneeled beside the new slave, though making sure to give the crowd a good view and set to work kissing and licking her way around his interface panel, her hands stroking his thighs in encouragement. Her moves were sensuous, drawing out the moment, putting on a show for her audience. Several inhaled sharply, mesmerized by the talent in the lithe femme as her valve moistened in anticipation, glistening before the sea of entranced optics. 

Grotto’s order page flared to life, signaling the demand of his pleasure slaves, including the one currently kneeling on the small dais. He was printing out the order slips and handing them to customers when there was a click and a collective sharp inhale from the crowd. He turned to see what had drawn their attention and felt his own ventilation hitch. 

Understandably the mech had lost control of his body, his spike erupting from its housing. It stood at full attention, awaiting its seductress. 

Sunstreaker bit back a gasp of his own, noting the spike now proudly displayed on stage dwarfed his own. Not an easy feat. Grotto saw the impressive spike, and instantly, credit numbers started to appear on his datapad. 

The emerald femme eyed the spike with lustful anticipation, but Grotto’s sharp reprieve ended her advancement. Her personal comm. pinged, ordering her to not mount the impressive length. Hiding her disappointment she stood aside and waited until her master conducted his business. 

He turned to the crowd, who were all staring transfixed by the impressive mechhood and smiled graciously into their midst. 

“It seems our mech has some hidden talents,” Grotto said with awe noting how the light caught the silver crown on the spike displayed.   
“Instead of allowing my slave to introduce him into the world of pleasure, would there be interest in claiming his first time?” 

The crowd came to life. Bets were flying through the atmosphere, and all the while the mech slowly shook his head in reserved acceptance. His life was now over. He was to be bought, sold, and reprogrammed to ensure his complete obedience to his new master.

Mech and femme alike were shouting sums, each trying to outbid the other. Sunstreaker hazard a glance to the Praxian and was surprised to see him reclined in his chair the two femmes snuggled close to his body as he watched the proceedings with rapt attention. His hands wandered down their sides, stroking their lower backs, and when both femmes arched, it was easy to guess where the Praxian’s fingers were now residing. Sunstreaker’s gaze drifted to the noble mech and found him staring straight into Sunstreaker’s optics. 

Sunstreaker hid the surprised start at noticing the mechs penetrating gaze of baby blue. It was a very elegant shade that suited the regal mech very nicely. A tingle went up his spinal strut. When Sunstreaker reluctantly returned his gaze to the stage, Grotto looked ready to have a complete meltdown as the monetary numbers kept ringing with the passion of the crowd. Everyone wanted to induct the new mech into the world of pleasure.

“I want him!” a femme shouted above the others. She elbowed her way down to the edge of the arena, her face nearly hysterical. “I want to buy him. I will pay you double what you paid for him.”

“No, I do,” another shouted. “Triple the price!”

Grotto felt his fuel pump falter. He was in a true dilemma. He could either sell the slave for triple what he paid, or keep the slave and charge whatever he wished for such a valuable commodity. In the end, the studiously frugal mech won out. Grotto held up his hands and called, “I’m sorry, but he isn’t for sale. We are determining his service fee, not his sale price.”

Both femmes looked murderous, but relented. They had to respect the handlers. If the handlers didn’t have descent wares, then they would lose such a productive and pleasurable outlet. 

In the end the mechs first appointment cost five times his purchase price and as the femme sauntered up to the stage to claim her prize, he tried to protest. The winning femme stalked onstage, her panel already open and lubricant glistening between her thighs. She waved away any offers of privacy and gave the displayed male a feral smile before climbing on top of him and positioning her valve above the wide tip. She lowered herself in careful fashion, inching the spike inside, the roar of the crowd cheering her on. It took some time but she was able to take all of him in, her body shaking from the intensity of being stretched so thoroughly.

The pleasure slave felt envious of the femme now bouncing on the spike, but kept her face neutral. This wasn’t about her pleasure. It was about the customers. And the femme looked ready to burst with each filling thrust. 

Pleasure bots were suddenly in high demand, everyone screaming for something to alleviate their frustration as they watched with unwavering attention as the wealthy femme rode the new inductee of the pleasure world. Even the low rent slaves were demanded, their ports and oral cavities put to use as the crowd felt their lust overtake their senses. 

Sunstreaker refused to watch the debacle going on stage. Instead he opted to observe the crowd. His optics widened as the Praxian pushed the femmes onto their backs. He straddled the red femme’s head, his spike disappearing down her throat while he vigorously suckled the pink femme’s valve, her body arching into his ministrations. His doorwings were fluttering in the air so violently they looked like they were vibrating.

Sunstreaker’s attention drifted to the aristocratic mech, and could stop the smirk as he also succumbed to the erotic play, his bright optics fixated on the femme on stage as she writhed and moaned in total abandon. The noble mech ordered Grotto’s most expensive femme and directed her head to his lap, where she instantly started worshipping his spike. 

Sunstreaker turned away, shutting off his audios and concentrating on the coming match. It wasn’t wise to let yourself be caught up in the swell of the crowd. It was extremely difficult to fight with a raging spike preventing your movements. And Sunstreaker wasn’t one to let his libido get in the way of thoroughly beating a mech into submission. His spike gave a twitch at the thought, having been ignored while Sunstreaker spent all his recent time and energy training. The thought that a fresh femme was soon to be sharing his berth kept his libido in check, though once he did have to employ a pleasure bot to take the edge off. Since all pleasure models were refitted and clamped to prevent interface, Sunstreaker had to settle for oral stimulation. It took four attempts, but he had been able to satiate his libido.

The femme on the platform screamed, bolting rigid, her body shaking in spastic overload before she slumped on top of the endowed mech. Silver transfluid flowed heavy from her valve as the mech soundlessly mouthed his pleasure. Over half the crowd overloaded with the duo, the other half racing to the finish line fast as they could, their bodies protesting the frantic coupling but the lust filled processors unable to develop a protest or suitable rebuke.

Though loathe to performing in such public fashion, the mech couldn’t help himself as he thrust violently into the clenching heat. By the time he overload, filling the femme and overflowing her valve in a tidal wave of pleasure, the femme had overloaded no less than five times. She dropped into stasis on top of him, her body trembling in satisfaction. Grotto ordered two slaves to assist the femme down and two femmes carefully carried her to a vacant seat where she could regain her senses. Grotto agreed the mech would be available after the next match, earning several lurid choruses. 

The unconscious mech was taken off out of the arena and the announcer called for the next fighters to prepare. Several servants entered the arena and hastily cleaned up the copious amounts of transfluid. When they were finished, the force fields were erected. The crowd drowned itself in illegal high grade, letting the potency kick in and inflame their senses, readying for the next exhibition. With the constant strains of overload and saturating high grade, most of it tainted with all manner of additives, their systems were going to be regretting it when they woke up next cycle. If some of them did wake up.

Drinks were downed, bodies were hastily polished, removing the marks of interface as the pleasure bots took their leave, disappearing beneath the stage to be flushed and polished, ready for the next customer. 

Grotto bowed in reverence to the Praxian, who lazily nodded back in signs of mutual respect. The Praxian pulled his two femmes closer, both bearing the stain of his possession on their bodies. It was apparent he enjoyed the venue and the more befitting femmes to grace his exhibition. From the wild calling of the spectators, to the steady stream of illegal substances and sated patrons, the venue was turning out to be quite the spectacle. It was going to go down in history as one of the best nights ever documented in the illicit underworld. 

The announcer waited until almost everyone was back on line and drinks were properly refreshed before calling for the next combatants to enter. As soon as the crowd realized who was next, they bombarded the betting bots with wagers, knowing they were in for a glorious, indulgent fight that would pale all previous matches.

Sunstreaker hefted his twin blades and stepped toward the world of violent adulation and restless darkness, allowing it to encompass him as readily as the bloodlust consumed the crowd.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hope this chapter meets expectations. I certainly hope that it entertains my readers and makes ya’ll think. There’s going to be some hints dropped and some foreshadowing. So, attune your peepers!
> 
> No smut in this chapter. Just robotic gore and Sunstreaker being his usual self.

00000-----ooooo-----00000-----ooooo-----00000

 

Merchants continued to hock their illegal substances, their prices inflated for the crowd enthralled in the match. When their attention was centered on the fight, they were easier to haggle into higher prices. Pleasure bots actively patrolled the crowd with their handlers. Credits were exchanged for physical pleasures while the thirst for energon and mutilation rounded the menu of debauchery. 

There was something enthralling about screaming for lifeblood to be spilled and watching as the fighters bested their opponents, some more vicious than others. And all the while, well versed pleasure slaves worshipped their bodies and treating them like a gift from Primus. It was wonderfully seductive. Fractured attentions also meant higher prices, and with the fever of the crowd, many didn’t realize the hefty price associated with the immediate satisfaction the pleasure bots offered. Though the attendants were so wealthy, the inflated prices mattered little to their accounts.

Sunstreaker learned long ago not to look into the crowd during a fight. If you watched what everyone else was doing you would let your guard down. You let your guard down, you were maimed or terminated. The only thing he cared about was defeating his opponents to the cheers and screaming of strangers, then collecting his prize money. The overzealous spectators meant little to him, their hefty accounts the only attractive thing about them. Though if he admitted it, the finely polished regal mech in the front row was rather pleasing to the optic. Sunstreaker briefly wondered why type of polish the mech used. Sunstreaker waited in the shadows, watching the opposite side of the arena for his opponents to enter first. He never liked to be the first into the ring. Instead, he opted to let his opponents enter, revel in the spotlight, then he would make his grand appearance, stealing their adoration and focus. 

Grotto smiled as his datapad spit out numerous claim slips, the new valves overflowing with transfluid as the restless spectators waited for the next match to begin. The valves weren’t the only things in high demand, as those who indulged in public interface imbibed too much to drink. Some made use of the private booths, but others just didn’t care if someone watched them being pleasured. 

Some actually enjoyed it. 

Here, in the underground, paint schemes and personalities were muted, preserving anonymity and a certain sense of safety. But not voices and desires. Those rose and fell with the ebb of the participants. The underworld was gritty and filthy, catering to the carnal, unadulterated lusts that saturated the sparks and processors of all.

Sunstreaker noted his opponents across the arena, stepping out into the light, basking in the adulation of the crowd. Their armor was dull and dingy, abused by battles and neglect. Sunstreaker snorted through his vents, finding their lack of luster to be hideous. It was insulting, not only to the fighters themselves, but to the hosts, and to their opponents. They should look their best, hence why when Sunstreaker always made his grand entrance, he was a blinding star that captured attention and halted breathing functions. He was what they all aspired to be, gladiator and spectator alike. 

Trim, powerful, honed... gorgeous. 

Sunstreaker took a rare glance into the audience and noted the regal mech shone just as brightly as he did. They were like two stars, surrounded by a sea of filth and degenerative consumption. Sunstreaker moved, a living flame of radiant gold, shining like a beacon through the haze of depravity. The other mech shone brilliant white, the baby blue accents adding to the imagery of a burning nova, its flame threatening to burn away its surroundings. Two prominent points of light, balancing each other in a silent duet as one began to move, the other entranced by the motion and swaying with the magnetic current thrumming between them.

Sunstreaker entered the brightly lit arena, taking center stage, the roar of the crowd falling away into silence as he focused to task, glaring at his opponents. Three mediocre fighters, huge bets on his victory, odds stacked against him due to the confirmed medical reports, and Sunstreaker was to play his part, padding future battles and his planned victories. The admiration was palpable, the anticipation tangible, but the roaring and screaming of the audience fell upon deaf audios. 

Add in the fact that a femme, not a pleasure model, but a regular, everyday, common femme, was on her way to his berth... Sunstreaker felt his energon run hot. His spark gave a violent tug, demanding he end this early so he may partake in his reward. But he had to quell the feeling. The fight was already planned between himself and Grotto. Sunstreaker had to allow a few strikes to land, giving the impression he was compromised, before raising the victor. The crowds always loved it when a person was down, barely holding onto their consciousness or life, then rally against the odds, defeating their opponent. It made for a spectacular and very lucrative entertainment. 

Sunstreaker eyed his opponents carefully, weighing their strengths and weaknesses. The mech in the middle was the biggest threat, having well reinforced armor to rival Sunstreaker’s own, though his was black and not gilded. He carried two long thin swords similar to Sunstreaker’s, his wrists twirling in anticipation. The mech on his right was green and slightly bigger than Sunstreaker. He carried a whip, the end singing as it carried a charge. Defiantly something to watch out for. He also sported sharp needle-like projections on his hands, their bite deadly if they were to sink into unsuspecting circuits. The mech on the left was a bright red, a wide shield protecting his left flank and a multi edged sword reposed in his right hand. 

Easy opponents. 

Sunstreaker snorted, making a note to throttle Grotto next time he saw him. Slag, he should just terminate the disgusting mech. That would certainly get him out of their agreement. 

Sunstreaker bounced, as if testing his knees. The augmentations had taken effect, the springs giving him a little extra something in his joints. He had been so surprised with the added power in his legs, he had gifted the talented medic with two pleasure slaves, and in turn, received the honored medics vow of allegiance. 

Sunstreaker gave a fake flinch as he bounced, pretending he was in pain and wary of engaging the other three combatants.

The black mech smirked, his blades twirling as he advanced, his two companions allowing him the lead. He stepped forward, his optics on the golden warrior’s legs, a sneer gracing his scarred face. 

Sunstreaker smirked to himself. Oh yes, he drew them in like drones. He stepped forward, showing his own aggression, watching as the black mech’s right wrist had difficulty in executing a full turn. 

Weakness.

Sunstreaker presented his twin blades, their edges honed to a razor like sharpness that could split an atom. He balanced them in his hands, as if testing their weight, then gave his opponents a cheeky, murderous look. 

A sharp crack to his right made him wary, but having faced such opponents before, Sunstreaker was ready. The mechs were trying to distract him to allow their companion the chance to attack. Sunstreaker sidestepped, pretending to be dissuaded by the sound of the whip. The black mech fell for it and leapt to take advantage.

Sunstreaker feigned left, his blades a blur as he redirected the blow from the black mech. They clashed, swords singing through the air in a high aria of danger, blades swiping with the full intention of inflicting as much damage as possible. 

A Cybertronian could survive without all their limbs, and some could even survive without their heads for a short period of time. The body did all sort of neat things to preserve itself. As long as the main processor, spark chamber, or main fuel lines weren’t compromised, a person could survive terrible mutilation. And in the arena, their survival instincts and skills were tested with brutal force.

Sunstreaker blocked a strike to his left, and with expert ease, slid his own blade up and over, dislodging the black mechs advantage. The move served the dual purpose of throwing the mech off balance and distracting him. While he was trying to regain his balance, Sunstreaker struck, sinking his blade into the mechs right hand. With a quick flick of his wrist, he severed the actuators, causing the mech’s sword to fall. Sunstreaker struck him in the face three times in rapid succession before dancing away as a living flame. 

The crowd surged, half jumping to their feet and roaring to support their favorite fighter. The other half were busy with their pleasure bots or busy ordering pleasurable company. Their thundering voices didn’t reach Sunstreaker, who learned to tune their voices out a long time ago.

The green mech cracked his whip, maintaining a respectable distance, basking in the adoration he believed directed toward him. He wanted to break the golden mech’s concentration and allow his comrades the chance to bring him down. They all had huge wagers placed on them, their opponents medical history already hacked and confirmed. Now, they just had to overpower him and reap their reward. 

The black mech howled, energon squirting from his hand before emergency protocols initiated and sealed the wound to prevent energon loss. He staggered, his facial sensors flaring warnings and disrupting his internal HUD in a blinding glare of red. His two comrades started forward, protecting him while he recovered.

Sunstreaker felt the dulled sting as the whip landed across his back, the electrified end scorching the paint and causing it to blister. He snarled, glaring at the mech who dared to mar such beautiful craftsmanship. Sunstreaker was glad for his denser armor. He always made sure it was in top condition, the slaves polishing it to an immaculate shine that didn’t fit with the dark, dank underground world of illicit fighting. Here, everything was dull, dingy, grimy, and usually carried an odor. 

Sunstreaker shone like a star. He was a star, centering the chaotic world around him as spectators, handlers, gladiators, and slaves alike circled around him, caught in the gravity of his elegant superiority.

He ducked as the whip went flying through the air, intent on wrapping around his throat. Unlike some, Sunstreaker didn’t have defensive armor plates along his neck, or joints to deflect attack. He maintained a more form fitting, denser armor that protected his most vital and vulnerable points, while thinner, more pliant metal plating covered his joints, allowing freedom of movement and still offering some medium of protection. The thick armor dulled sensation, having only minimal neural connectivity. His protoform covering beneath filtered the sensations, allowing him to sustain heavier damage and still function without being overwhelmed from painful sensory input.

The red mech charged in, blade held high, ready to take advantage of Sunstreaker’s distraction with the whip. Unfortunately the mech didn’t realize the caliber of his opponent until Sunstreaker whirled, optics shining white, as he easily blocked the sloppy attack. 

Sunstreaker’s sword clashed with the red mechs shield, a gong like ring echoing throughout the arena as if calling the gods to attention. Sunstreaker twirled his swords with ease, alternating angled attacks on the red mech. He smiled in grim satisfaction when he noted the mech’s arm give under the assault. Just as Sunstreaker drew back for another powerful blow, hoping to break the mech’s strength, the whip cracked across his shoulder, the tongue sinking between the plates to sting his protoform.

Slag. He’d forgotten about that pain in the aft.

He growled an oath, spinning away from the whip as it disentangled itself, drawing back to its master for another aimed attack. The red mech mirrored Sunstreaker’s actions, stepping forward, trying to press his advantage by attacking while Sunstreaker was distracted and in pain. But Sunstreaker was a seasoned fighter and wasn’t going to go down easy. 

Out of the corner of his optic, Sunstreaker saw the green mech draw back for another strike, and with calculated precision, Sunstreaker struck the red mech with several short punches, before ducking down and clipping the mech across the top of his thigh. Sunstreaker spun, using the howling mech as a shield. The whip missed Sunstreaker and wrapped around the red mech’s throat. 

The red mech shuddered violently, the charge of the whip disrupting his normal electrical current in his body. He dropped his sword, his body trembling with the cruel sting. His optics went wide, flaring all manner of color as the charge raced along his neural lines.

It looked quite beautiful, in a twisted, grotesque sort of way.

The green mech barked in surprise, having attacked one of his partners instead of his target. He twisted the whip, demanding its instant retraction.

Sunstreaker smiled, raising his blade to severe the lash and end the poor mech’s misery, but before he could grant such leniency, the whip retracted, coiling back to its master like a scolded pet. The red mech landed heavily on his knees, trying in scared desperation to stabilize his systems. Sparks erupted along his helm, the electric discharge causing numerous shortages. Sunstreaker raised his sword, intent on removing one of the red warrior’s limbs, when the whip cracked close to his audio, forcing him to retreat a couple of paces. The distance was all that was required as he heard shifting of a larger body close by.

The black mech had regained his senses, his optics narrowing at the golden menace that pierced his hand and busted his facial plates. Repair nanites engaged the damage, numbing it and rerouting sensors, his damaged hand barely able to grasp his dropped sword. His grip was weak, the actuators having been severed. But being a fighter in an underground, gladiatorial circuit meant he didn’t have to play by the rules. Using an illegal augmentation, he pushed the hilt of his sword into his wrist, allowing snake-like connectors to wrap around the hilt and graft it into his body, making them one unit. He hefted his weapons and advanced on the gold demon, every intention of making him pay for the transgression.

Sunstreaker deked, turning left, then right, his swords sweeping up and catching the black mech unguarded. Sunstreaker felt the mechs resistance as one of his swords buried itself into the black armor along the mechs forearm. The metal screeched as it ground against structural support, sinking into the tender fibers of the muscle cable and circuitry. The metal peeled back, cables snapped, and fuel lines ruptured, painting the injury in energon.

The black mech howled, his other arm swinging around and catching Sunstreaker in the shoulder. Sunstreaker hissed, feeling the impact jar down into his frame and jerked hard on his opponent. The action forced the black mech’s sword to slice downward, the blade sinking between thick golden armor to pierce the thin protoform covering beneath.

The crowd cheered and screamed, multicolored energon splashing all over themselves and other spectators. Vendors readily refilled cubes, their accounts swelling with the tide of emotion. Pleasure bots struggled to keep up with their demands. Betting bots continued to take wagers, adjusting the numbers as the fight went on. 

Sunstreaker struck the damaged arm with a dangerous flash, severing it so it hung limp from the black body, just below the elbow. The mech yelled a strangled curse, staggering back, separating himself from his attacker. In his peripheral vision, he saw the flash of green next to the behind the red mech, offering cover as he hefted his shield back into stable position. 

Sunstreaker whirled, his processor deciding the next course of action. It was wise to take out the biggest threat, then take out the lesser opponents. The black mech glared at him, though maintained a healthy distance, energon pouring from his partially severed arm that dangled by his side, mocking him. 

Hearing the tell tale song of a whip as it sailed through the air, Sunstreaker ducked, avoiding the kissing sting on his plating. He advanced, every intention of putting the black mech out of commission, but a blur of red on his left, distracted him.

Sunstreaker smiled, jumping away from his opponent and blocking a strike from the red mech, who darted in to assist his injured partner. Sunstreaker easily countered his attack, matching him blow for blow. The red mech quailed under the assault, a dent forming in his shield as it absorbed the majority of the impact. The mechs arm was stinging with the vibration from the sheer power behind the strokes. He staggered back, hoping to regain his composure, but Sunstreaker wasn’t going to give him the opportunity. Quick as a flash, he knocked the shield aside with one sword, and slammed the flat blade of the other against the red mech’s cheek. The blow disrupted his visual relays, long enough for Sunstreaker to flick his wrist, cutting a mosaic along the mechs cheek, neck, and between the armor of his chest. The red mech whimpered, his optics flickering as he tried to realign his systems, unable to see the gilded god raise his sword for a disabling blow.

Sunstreaker had calculated his odds, pleased with himself for dealing the first few blows. But a part of him knew that this was an exhibition. A ruse to get the crowd, and his opponents into believing he was compromised, vulnerable. Hating himself for it, Sunstreaker dropped his guard, pretending not to notice the mech with the whip lining him up again. With a resounding crack it landed across his right arm, halting his perceived strike on the red mech, and gave him a powerful electric shock that made him almost drop his sword. 

Primus that hurt. But it had to look good, else the victory would be less lucrative and easily seen through. 

Pink energon stained Sunstreaker’s damaged shoulder from the black mechs sword, and the paint blistered across his back and along his right arm where the whip had struck. He shook his right side, pretending to be favoring the wounded area, when he heard the high pitched sound of the electrified whip. 

Sunstreaker spun, grabbing the bleeding red mech with his left hand and threw him toward the singing weapon. The whip landed across the red mechs shoulder, burning into the plating of his armor. He yelled, casting a dirty look to his comrade for the continued treachery, but was rewarded with a stabbing pain in his arm as the tension cables were severed. His arm fell lax against his side, the sword dropping from his grasp. He looked up in time to see Sunstreaker smiling in a wickedly devilish way before he dipped and thrust out, his swords easily shoving aside the protective shield and allowing their twin bites to pierce the red armor. The blades sank into the mechs shoulder and hip, rendering him immobile. The red gladiator dropped to his knees in surrender, his body disabled and unable to continue. 

When the red mech was down, Sunstreaker struck him across the back of the neck as he knelt. He grunted falling face first into the ground, his equilibrium chips knocked haywire. A small pool of energon formed under him, but he was removed from the fight. One opponent down, two more to go, Sunstreaker thought. 

Sunstreaker cast a dirty look to the green mech, giving him a glare that clearly stated his time was coming. Sunstreaker was going to make him pay. With deliberate slowness he crouched, his optics never leaving the whip wielding menace.

Sunstreaker advanced on the green mech, his face drawn, lip curled in a vicious sneer, blades hanging at his sides, awaiting his command.   
The green mech was smart enough to know he was targeted by a mech better fighter. He circled, trying to keep equal distance between himself and the golden hellion stalking forward like gilded death. He cracked his whip in warning, but Sunstreaker didn’t even flinch. He continued his slow progress, a predator seeking injured prey. Pain was coming for him, and it was encased in the precious metal of an ethereal god.

The green mech slung the whip in a wide arc, trying to keep the mech at bay. Sunstreaker ducked, hearing the song change in pitch. He watched as the green mech circled, struck, recoiled, circled again. Sunstreaker’s processor was a blur of complicated fight patterns and estimated tactical plans. Sunstreaker advanced, ducking and jumping the whip, avoiding any possible disabling injury. 

A projectile went sailing through the air before Sunstreaker could register its trajectory. With a hiss he felt the cutting edge of a sword embed in the back of his left arm. He turned to see the black mech brandishing his remaining sword, his other arm hanging lifeless at his side. His face was set in hard lines, his hatred for the golden warrior tangible. 

The spectators screamed, chanting for the demise of both gladiators. Their bloodlust not sated with only seeing one warrior go down in a tormented heap. 

The distraction was all the green mech needed. His whip wrapped around Sunstreaker’s left knee in a loving embrace that sent him reeling. Sunstreaker growled, feeling the pain burn through the thin seams of his armor plating and contact directly with his dermal plating. 

Sunstreaker dropped to his knee, snarling oaths that would have been deemed shameful on the surface. With a deft flick of his wrist, he severed the end of the whip, causing it to lose its charged tip. It recoiled back to his master, the end glowing a faint purple as it fought to recharge its altered length. As the mech struggled to get his weapon to fully charge, Sunstreaker pulled the sword from his arm and without calculations or purposed aim, he turned and threw the deadly blade back toward its owner. 

The black mech wasn’t expecting such a fast retaliation. He was advancing on the golden warrior when he went down. He gasp as his own blade came flying through the air at lightning speed, landing with a clanging ring in his lower left side above his hip. His armor absorbed most of the impact, but the edge still found purchase along his circuitry, causing him to stumble, his motor function temporarily disabling in his left leg. 

The whip cracked to Sunstreaker’s left, singing through the air as it charged the particles, its tip glowing intense violet. It was time to put that weapon and its wielder out of commission. Sunstreaker dodged, his processor relaying the perceived voltage, the elapse time to crack and withdraw. He also noted that the mech wielding it was a novice, obviously used to another weapon, but for the purpose of this match, he was given an alternative. 

As the whip returned to its master, Sunstreaker darted forward, gaining ground on the green assailant. Before the mech could gather his wits, Sunstreaker gained several paces closer. He turned, every intention to flee, but Sunstreaker had already prepared for his retreat. 

The powerful springs in Sunstreaker’s knees engaged, giving him added strength and control in his launch. A few fast strides and Sunstreaker was upon him, blades flashing in the spotlight, severing the mech’s whip wielding hand. He howled a torrent of fluent languages, spinning into his attacker, needle like projections on his remaining fist aimed for vital systems. With a sickening sound of wet metal being bent, Sunstreaker grunted, feeling the sharp spikes sink past his armor and pierce the protoform covering on his left side below his spark chamber. 

Sunstreaker jumped back out of the way as the barb encrusted fist pumped, searching for purchase in golden plating. Instinct kicked in and Sunstreaker dropped into a crouch, spinning to land a heavy blow to the back of the green mechs legs. He went down amid a string of curses. A flashing of silver and his other hand and both pedes were removed from his body. To add insult to injury, Sunstreaker gave the miserable mech a lecherous smile before stabbing both swords through the red midsection. The sudden introduction of blades sent the mech spiraling into unconsciousness, his body shutting down in self preservation. 

Sunstreaker grunted, feeling the burning pain from the barbs for a moment before his systems numbed the areas. His dermal plating beneath protested the treatment and reminded him why he didn’t like fighting against an opponent who used the electrified whip or barbed knuckle plating. He was glad the green mech was down. Now he could focus on putting the black mech in his place.

The black mech rerouted systems, hefting his remaining weapon and ready to face his opponent again. He was determined to best the golden mech. He glanced impassively to the two who had been chosen to assist him in the fight. Both now down, worthless, useless. Now, he would partake in the reward alone. 

Sunstreaker took a defensive posture, optics in constant motion, looking for a weakness. He hissed, feeling the dulled pain register along his senses from the whips caresses. A strange sliding sensation registered for a brief second around his knee, where the whip tip he had severed finally lost purchase on his plating and fell to the ground. Sunstreaker was glad for the denser armor that covered his body. He would have been seriously injured if not for the protective measures. 

Protoform shells were for basic every day use, keeping out the particles that may harm a Cybertronian system. Combat armor like what was designed for the arena was of heavier, denser quality. It was for protective defense only, thankfully the neural connectors in the armor not as conductive as the thin metal coverings that fitted over protoforms.

But it still hurt like the Pit!

The black mech squared himself against his foe, his lips curled into a twisted grimace. He was determined to end this match. It had gone on for far too long. The golden warrior had enough adulation and recovery time. It was now time to end their encounter, declare himself the winner, and receive temporary repairs to allow him to berth a very profitable bidder. Just the thought of garnering such esteemed honor and earning the right to share the berth with one of the more reputable spectators was enough to get the black mech’s engine revving. 

Sunstreaker heard the rev and guessed its meaning, a small part of him chiding such stupidity on his opponent’s part. There was no way the black mech was going to be walking out of the arena. And no way would he earn a place in a wealthy spectator’s berth. 

The two gladiators came together in a mighty clash that rattled both their frames. The black mech flinched, finding his strength to be considerably less than what he normally exuded. With a twist, he stepped into Sunstreaker, pressing his hip against the golden body, and struck a double blow. Sunstreaker’s damaged right arm gave a creaking groan in warning before sparking, his fingers flexing in a strange sign language before dropping his sword. The black mech used the momentum to carry him forward, colliding his hip into the warrior before kicking out, landing a solid blow onto Sunstreaker’s left knee that still bore scorch marks from the whip.

Sunstreaker gasped out of genuine pain, punching and then ducking to roll away from his assailant. When he was a few paces away, he sprung to his feet, wobbling slightly, overplaying the injuries though to a small degree. They still stung like a pit demon and his strength waned at the most inopportune time. The augmentations in his knees were holding up well above expectations. 

Just as the thought crossed his mind, Sunstreaker’s knee gave, dropping him to the ground with a hiss, giving his opponent the chance to come in, sword poised for the winning blow. Since this wasn’t a death match, the mech didn’t intend on killing Sunstreaker, only maiming or disfiguring. 

There were very few rules to the illegal sport, and one of them was you fought until you bled into stasis or lost both your arms. Sunstreaker had never suffered a defeat, though he had come close three times. He vowed never to lose. This was his pleasure, and his mercy didn’t extend to his opponents any more than they extended to those he berthed. He was perfection, and everyone would take notice, wishing they held such power and dominance.

The crowd cheered the black mech on, several already celebrating their financial gains. All of the social elite halted their activities, some poised mid-coitus, pleasure bots enraptured with the fight and barely responding to their buyers. High grade merchants chanted with the crowd, the churning sea of Cybertronian bodies ebbing like the magnetic tides that balanced the planet’s core. They knew energon was coming, and with the victor, a truly magnificent specimen of gladiatorial perfect, ready to be plucked and sampled by those with hefty accounts and durable bodies that wouldn’t buckle under the ravenous pounding.

Sunstreaker pretended to be indecisive, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword that poised beside of him. The black mech was so intent on going on for the proverbial kill, he didn’t take in the situation as a whole. 

The black mech drew up beside his downed opponent, his face twisted in a malicious sneer as his good arm raised, ready to deliver gladiatorial justice. His optics bore into opalescent optics of the golden menace that had caused him so much strife. His victory was going to be the talk of the underworld, and he had every intention of exploiting his status. 

He extended his arm, poised as a god above the fallen golden gladiator. He looked into the face of the one he was going to strike down and felt his fuel pump falter. Instead of fear or submission gazing back at him from the depths of the handsome face, there was nothing but pure triumphant rage. Before his processor could fathom the mech’s emotions, a blade came slicing upward, cutting from the inside of his thigh, across his torso, and under the uninjured arm, severing the main tension muscle cable. 

The black mech shuttered his optics in slow motion, as if unable to process what just happened to him. Arm now robbed of strength and ability to move on his command, his sword fell from his lifeless fingers. His shoulder joint creaked before succumbing to the forward momentum and falling useless at his side. He turned to escape, try reroute his systems before his opponent could counterattack, but he wasn’t fast enough for the seasoned warrior carving his insignia into history. As the black mech’s defenses were down, Sunstreaker struck out, severing the tension cables inside the mech’s knees. Optics wide, he dropped to his knees, his face turning to stare at the beautiful demon who had bested him.

Sunstreaker smiled in such a way, it sent a shiver down the black mech’s spinal strut. Lower and upper limbs now useless, he knelt defeated in front of the voracious crowd, unable to see or hear them. A small part of him realized that had this been a death match, his spark would be held in the powerful fingers of the golden mech behind him. He felt himself start to waver, his damaged body unable to continue supporting his weight. A shift and pained grunt later, he heard the sound of his termination behind him.

Sunstreaker half dragged himself the short distance to the black mech and grabbed him. He wrapped his damaged arm across the black mech’s shoulders, pulling him against his golden chest, his burnt plating pressed against the mech’s chin as he was held submissively. Sunstreaker’s lip components spoke close to defeated audios. 

“Amateur,” Sunstreaker muttered.

Sunstreaker held the mech in a vicious lovers embrace, facing the crowd, who screamed and chanted though Sunstreaker was deaf to their pleas. The only thing that mattered was the form held close to his body, the erratic pulse of a spark pounding in erratic tandem against his own steady beat. 

The mech was terrified. His fear bled through his very plating, seeping into Sunstreaker’s systems and tingling his relays. His frame shook with the ferocity of his fear, his vents wheezing in pained submission to his fate.

Primus, it was so intoxicating.

Intentionally, Sunstreaker sought out the baby blue optics of the regal mech sitting in the front. When they locked gazes, Sunstreaker allowed a sensuous, feral smile to grace his handsome face. He refused to look away, his gaze speaking in volumes. The noble mech leaned forward in his seat, drawn to the magnetism of the golden gladiator.

The black mech in Sunstreaker’s arms lurched forward with a violent thrust, his body jerking rigid, his optics flaring bright. He sputtered, mouth working soundlessly as his body started to shudder. Sunstreaker held him close, slowing inching his blade between the mech’s back armor plating, worming his way forward. With a grind and sickening screech of metal on metal, the black armor on the mech’s chest gave a pop and sizzle, the circuits severed from their main neural distribution relay. The tip of Sunstreaker’s blade peeked from between the mech’s black chest plates, until the hilt against his back prevented further progress. The thin blade of silver, glowing faintly with spilt energon, erupted from the mech’s body as testament to his victory. Sunstreaker’s gaze was unwavering over the mech’s black shoulder, his piercing stare held by the regal baby blue optics, both unable to break the spell.

Optics flaring to a glacial white, Sunstreaker gave the noble mech a little sneer, before twisting his weapon in the black mech’s circuitry. The defeated gladiator screamed, his body doing an eclectic kind of dance in Sunstreaker’s embrace before going slack in the golden arms. 

Sunstreaker’s gaze drifted to the mech in his arms, staring impassively at the motionless form. He withdrew his blade and released the mech, watching as he fell in slow motion onto the ground, energon pouring from various wounds. 

Sunstreaker looked to the crowd, as if just noticing their attendance. The rush of their voices against his audios nearly deafened him. The force field dropped, as was usual for after a match, but unlike the other gladiators, Sunstreaker gave a crisp salute to the screaming adoration pouring from the crowd before exiting the arena, his job now done. He noted with smug satisfaction the Praxian and the regal mech both had stood from their chairs when the energy field was lowered. A small part of him reared at the thought that his body was in such demand. No doubt both had wanted to bid for a chance to have the gladiator to berth them, but Sunstreaker would never give them the opportunity. A small part of him wondered though what kind of credits he’d be able to get. He sneered, knowing his price would be higher than anything ever recorded thus far.

The announcer seemed to awake from a stupor, his voice a little too loud and high pitched as he started declaring the winner. His voice faltered when Sunstreaker walked back into the safe shadows that lead to the medics. Remembering that the gladiator wasn’t one for selling his favors, he instead called for a slave to be brought out and auctioned while the mess was cleaned up before the last fight of the evening.

“Incredible!” Grotto yelled when Sunstreaker entered the sheltered alcove, his arms open wide, though he knew the gladiator wouldn’t allow himself to be physical in such a manner. 

Sunstreaker grunted in acknowledgement, feeling the heat of the battle still surging through his lines. He wanted to keep the feeling alive, but the error messages now scrolling urgently through his HUD required top priority. He had taken a few nasty blows, and needed medical attention. Grotto took the initiative to touch the gladiator’s arm, earning a growl in warning.

“What?” Sunstreaker asked, his voice low and threatening. He was still running on battle mode, and it was taking all his self control not to dismember the ugly fight mogul. 

“I wanted to inform you that your special delivery is on its way,” Grotto said, his hand sliding down the gilded golden armor to brush against the mech’s fingers.

Sunstreaker jerked his hand away, feeling his fuel pump pound in his audios, but the tempo changed into one of anticipation instead of fight instincts.

Bypassing the fight mogul, Sunstreaker started down the familiar trek to the medic, his reserves flashing red in warning. 

“Our arrangement,” Sunstreaker said, optics boring into Grotto’s with such an intensity, the ugsome mech shivered. 

“I believe my mechs have found you a suitable candidate,” Grotto said, instantly snapped into business mode. “She will be arriving by early next cycle.”

Sunstreaker offered a curt nod, his lip curling in triumphant cheer. 

“Send two slaves to attend me,” Sunstreaker ordered, continuing to his destination to the medic. “I wish to be presentable to the femme so she will know of the honor she has been granted.”

“I have two mechs that have not had much work this evening,” Grotto said, scanning through his datapad and scrolling through the sheer volume of rentals of his slave models. 

“They will do,” Sunstreaker said, calling over his shoulder. ”I have every intention of stalling the femme’s breathing function.”

“There will be no doubt as to that,” Grotto assured him, keeping pace and sending the message to the two rested mechs to attend the gladiator. “She will be in awe of your prowess.”

Sunstreaker knew Grotto meant it to be flattery but a part of him secretly wondered if this course of action was wise. What if Grotto’s men had found an ugly femme? What if she was as lax as the pleasure slaves? What if she wasn’t the answer to this dark void that threatened to consume him and prevent him from finding the ultimate release? 

But the little voice inside his processor instantly rallied, its rebuke joined by his spark, both chastising the gladiator for thinking such things. The femme would be perfect. In every sense of the term. She was his for the claiming, her body and spark his property to bend to his will, whether she wanted to submit or not. He was going to prove that he was mech enough to tame the wildest spirit, and earn the subjugation of his new berthmate.

Grotto muttered, ”You have my word, you will be satisfied.”

Sunstreaker glanced to the fight mogul as they entered the repair bay together. Sunstreaker planted himself heavily on the portable repair berth, the medic pulling out diagnostic scanner and setting to work. Two other portable berths were already occupied, the gladiators not fairing well from their bouts and immediate demands of vigorous interface. Thankfully, Grotto supplied his gladiators with a decent medic and medical supplies to ensure their recovery. The repair berths were easily handled, allowing the injured to be transported back to their facility without too much jostling of painful wounds. 

“There is also another matter I wish to discuss, if you are inclined?” Grotto pressed, hoping to use the gladiator’s mood to his advantage. 

“Pertaining to?” Sunstreaker asked, his optics hard as titanium. He wasn’t in the mood to discuss their potential liaison. 

“One of our spectators this evening has proposed a match,” Grotto said, typing a few buttons on the datapad and handing it over to Sunstreaker.

“They have recently acquired a new fighter,” Grotto added, watching as Sunstreaker’s optics darted across the screen. “They claim he is unbeatable.”

Sunstreaker offered a snort, looking over the designations of the ones that were defeated. Several of them Sunstreaker had beaten so badly, they required an extended stay in the medical ward. They weren’t exactly elite fighters. In fact, none of the fighters listed ranked very high in the illegal underground sport. They were all rather mediocre. 

“This is his opponents list?” Sunstreaker asked with a skeptical snort, handing the pad back with derision. “Is this supposed to impress me? To make me want to prove my own abilities?”

“I have been assured he is quite formidable,” Grotto said, trying to find the warrior’s stats to show his best fighter. Perhaps if he saw the proposed opponent, he would be more inclined to accepting. 

“Not interested,” Sunstreaker said, grunting when the medic accessed his damaged arm. 

“They have offered a starting balance of one hundred thousand credits,” Grotto said slowly, letting the information sink in. His words had the desired effect. Sunstreaker’s countenance perked up, so he added, “And there will be wealthy spectators from all over Cybertron attending this event.”

Sunstreaker’s optics narrowed, his processor buzzing with calculations and possible outcomes. 

“Wealthy mechs draw a lot of unwanted attention,” Sunstreaker muttered, still weighing his options. 

“But when the mechs in question are in positions of power and authority, then the odds are high for extra security detail to ensure the spectators are not…. disturbed,” Grotto said, finding the prospect of entertaining such high quality mechs to be intoxicating. He would have to get his femmes refitted again to cater to the wealthy clientele. When Sunstreaker remained silent, Grotto added, “I understand the event is planned to honor of one of the Tower mechs.”

Tower mechs? Oh, Sunstreaker’s interest hit the stratosphere. Those who dwelled in the Towers were the elite. If they took an interest in you or your abilities, you’re success was guaranteed.

“Towers,” Sunstreaker muttered, staring at the datapad held in Grotto’s hand. With a slow nod, he added, “Inform them of my interest, but I will not be available for several cycles.”

“They wished to schedule the match in a couple of cycles,” Grotto said with a panicked whine. He was afraid the gladiator would miss his window of opportunity to impress the high society. Being Sunstreaker’s handler, Grotto would be gaining some notoriety as well. It was a prospect he wasn’t willing to let slip through his thick fingers. 

“Ten cycles,” Sunstreaker said sternly, his gaze raking over the ugsome mech’s frame as he added, “Inform them my schedule is full due to the fact I have other duties to attend, and all of my attention is required in their 'performance'.”

Grotto felt his spark thrum wildly at the appraising look he was receiving from the gladiator. His spike threatened to escape from the sheer anticipation of promises to come. His engine gave an excited rev.

“I shall inform them immediately,” Grotto said, his fuel pump hammering like a caged animal. 

“Good,” Sunstreaker said, causally leaning back and allowing the medic to access the damage along his upper thigh and knee. “And inform them that my price is two hundred thousand.”

Grotto nearly stalled out, both from the wanton pose the gladiator assumed and the price tag he just labeled for his services. 

“But, they will refuse and we’ll lose the commission!” Grotto cried. 

“If they are truly interested in obtaining my services for their entertainment, then they will pay whatever fee you ask,” Sunstreaker said slowly, hiding the wince of pain as the medic found a sensitive spot on his knee. “My price, compounded with my schedule, will only serve to boost their interest. If they want to intrude upon my previous engagements, they will have to pay the price.”

Grotto’s face turned devilish. “Very clever.”

Sunstreaker grunted in agreement, trying to keep his face set as the medic poked and prodded his wounds. 

Grotto hastily started typing on the datapad, and with a curt nod to Sunstreaker he started toward the door. When he was almost to the door, Sunstreaker called, halting his advance.

“This new gladiator, what was his former occupation?” Sunstreaker asked, growling as the medic pushed on his shoulders in a clear invitation to lie down. 

Grotto looked up from his data pad, his engine giving a lustful rev when he noted the gladiator lying prone on the berth, covered in fluids. That image just did something to him, deep down. He felt the overwhelming urge to run over to the berth, slide in beside the golden warrior, reveal his valve and submit to the alpha male. Just the thought made his spike lubricate in its housing.

“A..a..” Grotto sputtered, trying to stop the mental images and get a grip on his traitorous body. “A miner, I believe.”

“A miner?” Sunstreaker scoffed, ignoring Grotto’s physical state. “Shouldn’t be too difficult to defeat.”

“Easy,” Grotto said, his hand straying to his interface array as he stared at Sunstreaker.

“Just remember to inform the Tower mechs that I have other business to attend,” Sunstreaker said, watching as Grotto petted his interface panel. 

“Yes, you will be done,” Grotto said before hastily exiting the room to find a femme to release his pent up frustration.

Sunstreaker snorted at the insinuation, his body giving a shiver of disgust.

“You offered to berth him?” the medic asked, confusion written all over his face. He knew Sunstreaker didn’t possess a valve, and that his conquests usually required medical treatment after servicing him, so it was difficult for the medic to envision the ugly ring leader willingly allowing such a violent mech to spike him, considering his reputation. 

Sunstreaker wanted to snap it wasn’t the medic’s business, but the look of revulsion and sick admiration stole his resolve. He creased his mouth in a tight smile, “Not exactly. If he finds me a femme worthy of my berth, then I will consider sharing a berth with him.”

“Disgusting,” the medic said before he could stop himself. His wide optics looked to Sunstreaker, hoping the golden warrior wasn’t going to rat him out to the big boss.

Sunstreaker laughed at the look on the fidgeting medic’s face. He gave a slow nod, “My sentiments exactly.”

“But if he finds a femme….” The medic trailed off, glancing to the doorway where two mechs appeared, ready to polish the gladiatorial god. 

“Oh, let’s say I am a very fastidious mech,” Sunstreaker smirked.

The medic’s face slowly morphed into understanding, his mouth curling into a smile that quickly faltered. He leaned over Sunstreaker, dropping his vocalizer so low the other two mechs in the room couldn’t overhear. “But if you can’t get out of it, I have something that can help you get through it.”

Sunstreaker wanted to laugh at the offer, but somehow, he just couldn’t bring himself to do so. Something in the medic’s optics stalled his retort.

“I suggest you spend the rest of the cycle in recovery,” the medic said, taking a step back and returning his voice to its normal volume.

Sunstreaker nodded, knowing that this time tomorrow, his desires were finally going to come to fruition. There’s was going to be something special waiting in his room. And with everything that has come to pass, all events leading to this point, Sunstreaker felt his spark rage, beating a war chant that would have rivaled the roar of the crowd. 

“You’re going to need your strength,” the medic said, grabbing two infusions of medical grade energon to hook into Sunstreaker’s systems. His optics twinkled as he worked, inserting their leads into the reception ports along Sunstreaker’s arms. When they began to drip, he added, “Repairs shouldn’t take more than a few of breems. After that, you should charge, and allow your body the chance to incorporate the infusion.”

Sunstreaker nodded in agreement, glancing to the two mechs who had been waiting patiently inside the door.

“Clean me thoroughly and see to it that my armor is repaired,” he commanded.

The two mechs bowed and set to work removing the intricate latches that held the battle armor in place. Sunstreaker powered down, knowing he was in good hands. The slaves wisely stayed out of the medics way as he repaired the damage done by Sunstreaker’s opponents. He groused as he worked, scolding the unconscious gladiator, his optics traveling to the handsome slumbering face. It was amazing that such a violent and cruel mech could look so peaceful. 

The transport back to their hidden training facility took a short amount of time, secrecy no longer an issue about possible followers. The injured were sequestered in the medical ward, Sunstreaker earning his own room, and as per requested; only the medic had the overrides. Sunstreaker lay in perfect slumber, his body recharging after the fight. 

His spark sang in its casing, its song a low melody that graced the scarred warrior and carried his tormented processor to better, beautiful places.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is where the NONcon bit comes in. You’ve been warned.

000000------oooooo------000000------oooooo------000000

Sunstreaker’s mood was sour as he walked to his quarters. The mechs who were assigned to polish his armor had ‘misplaced’ a couple of pieces during the return transport. To add further insult to injury, the armor still sported blistered paint and a slight odor of burnt ozone and scorched primer. 

Not wanting to be viewed by the femme as a mismatched, unwashed, undesirable mech, Sunstreaker opted to have his protoform covering buffed into an immaculate sheen. The slaves had worked hard in polishing every minute inch of his body, until he shone like a super nova. 

The femme would be in awe of the godly, ethereal mech that chose to berth her.

Sunstreaker palmed the lock on his door, stepping over the threshold and locking the mechanisms as soon as it closed. He didn’t want his visitor to escape. He had a lot of plans for her. Quickly, his optics scanned the room, searching for his prize and alighted up on a small form huddled next to the wall near his berth. Her head was leaning against the cool metal surface, her face downcast. She sensed his presence and looked up, giving him the full view of her face. 

She was beautiful, or would have been had her cheek not been split and her optics shattered. The femme would have been prettier had she chosen a better paint scheme as well. She was mainly white, with black torso, hands, and pedes. Light green pin striping ran the length of her legs and arms, accenting the white. From an artistic point of view, he would have painted her a dark indigo, with just a hint of silver or maybe light grey accents. 

Oh yes, that scheme would have looked especially nice on her frame. 

“What happened to your optics?” he asked, more out of curiosity than concern. He would have liked to have seen the lust reflected in her optics as he took her. He didn’t like the fact he wouldn’t see her enamored passion of his overpowering dominance mirroring back at him. 

“They were shattered when I was attacked,” she said, her hand pressed on the wall to guide herself to her pedes. Her voice was gentle and definitely feminine. “I don’t know where I am or what’s going on. Can you help me?”

She had an Iaconian accent that Sunstreaker found alluring, adding to her charm. The simple phrase kindled something deep within Sunstreaker’s spark. It wasn’t so much as dominance as …..  
protectiveness. Keeping what’s his sheltered away and safe from the outside world who’d try to take her away from him. His processor instantly perked, liking that train of thought. 

“I can help you, in a manner of speaking,” Sunstreaker said, his stride predatory. He felt a sudden anger toward Grotto’s men for taking the femme’s sight. He would have liked to see the look in her optics as she beheld him in all his glory. And the look in her optics when she realized the godly mech was going to berth her. 

“I don’t understand,” she said, her hand steady against the wall for support. “What is going on here?”

“You are here because I asked for something fresh and different,” Sunstreaker said standing before the femme and watching as her face shifted in confusion.

“You mean, I was kidnapped and brought here on… your orders?” She asked, her brow drawn.

“Yes,” Sunstreaker affirmed, his hand going to her uninjured cheek to brush the back of his fingers against the smooth metal. She flinched away, taking a step back.

“Do I know you?” she asked, feeling her fuel pump hammer like a wild thing in her chest. “Have I offended you in someway?”

“No,” Sunstreaker said, mirroring her actions to stand in front of her again. He was sure she could sense his EM field pulsing against her own. “In fact I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

“So why did you have me kidnapped?” She said, asserting a harsh buzz to her EM field to let the mech know she wasn’t interested in his advances. “If I never met or offended you, why kidnap me?”

“I didn’t pick you,” Sunstreaker said, finding her resistance to be engaging. “I paid some, colleagues, of mine to find me a femme who was different from the pleasure bots. Someone who didn’t have so much wear on their bodies.”

“What?” she a gasped. She took a step back, her face twisted in shock and fear. “You had me kidnapped so you could interface with me?”

Sunstreaker stepped forward, their bodies nearly touching. There was no doubt she could sense the heat coming off his frame. He was near boiling in his plating with anticipation. His EM field flared, buzzing with arousal. There was no way she could miss his attraction.

“Interface, merge, whatever I desire,” Sunstreaker said, feeling a surge of pride when she placed her tiny hands on his chest and pushed, trying to distance him. 

“How dare you!” she snapped, anger making her sightless optics blaze as if their lenses weren’t shattered. It was like two hot coals of burning rage were staring directly into his soul.

It was Sunstreaker’s turn to shiver. Primus, that resistance, that defiance, that fiery temperament! He felt something deep within stir, rearing its head, sensing what was missing now within arm’s reach. That something took control, making Sunstreaker do something he had never done before with a pleasure bot or anyone else he ever shared a berth with.

Overcome with desire, Sunstreaker pulled the femme into an embrace, sealing his lips to hers in a passionate kiss. She twisted, her fists beating against his chest, but the much stronger mech ignored her assault. She turned her head, hoping to dissuade him, but one hand grasped the back of her helm, keeping it immobile. She felt his glossa tease her lips, begging entry. With a contemptuous noise, she allowed him entry. And as soon as she sensed the probing glossa, she clenched her jaw, biting down on the invader. 

Sunstreaker yelled into her mouth as he extracted his lingula, a small drop of energon beading from the puncture. Thankfully he’d been able to pull out before serious damage could be done. 

“Don’t you dare touch me!” she hissed, her fist striking out, hoping to connect with him. 

Her puny defense was easily caught by the much larger mech, her wrist impossibly small in his grip. She whimpered as he applied pressure, manifesting his strength for the blind femme.

“Is that any way to entice me?” he asked, one hand ghosting her undamaged cheek. His spark was already pounding a vivid beat in his chest from the kiss. The simple action had awakened a deep yearning, and strange emotions began to filter into his spark, sneaking in and settling into the dark places and chasing away the shadows that hid there.

“I’d rather terminate,” she spat, trying to wrest herself from his grasp. “Let me go!”

Sunstreaker obeyed, amusement making his face seem more dangerous. He watched as she felt along the wall, no doubt looking for the door. Her fingers were long, elegant, and tapered to delicate points. Oh, they would feel magnificent caressing his body. Sunstreaker bit back a groan at the thought, his spike surging.

“If you’re hoping to escape, the door is locked and only I know the code,” he said, feeling smug satisfaction as the bewildered look that crossed her face. 

He must admit, she looked especially beautiful when she knew she was trapped. That something in his spark reared again, demanding his immediate action. What that action was, Sunstreaker wasn’t sure. He was barely aware of the desire to do something, let alone decipher the next course of action. 

“Let me go,” she demanded, her face set in a dark scowl. Had the situation been different, Sunstreaker may have felt threatened. Her finger pointed threateningly in the wrong direction as she added, “Let me go and you have my word I won’t alert Security Response.” 

“I won’t let you go and I doubt you would be able to lead anyone here, let alone the authorities,” Sunstreaker said, crossing his arms over his chassis and enjoying the bantering. He watched her tiny fists held up to defend herself, and smirked. Both could fit in his palm. 

His spark thrummed in happiness as the femme riled, her anger doubling.

“You glitched up fragger,” she growled, her fists cycling defensively in front of her. She wasn’t going to be intimidated by the unknown mech. “You lay one servo on me and I’ll take you apart!”

“I doubt you could hurt me,” Sunstreaker said, resisting the urge to take her right there against the wall. Primus, her rage was enticing. “But I intend upon laying more than just a servo on you.”

“You most certainly will not, you slagging piece of scrap metal!” she screamed, her body radiating hatred. Her fists circled in front of her, readying for action, her limited sensors trying to pinpoint his location to land a punch.

His vocalizer took on a sultry tone as he responded to her threats. “Oh little femme, I’ll have you in every sense of the term. You will be claimed by the best.” 

“Go to the pit!” she spat, her fist lashing out, meeting air. 

Sunstreaker’s face split into an iniquitous smile as he started toward her, his engine revving in arousal. She heard his approach and lashed out again, but Sunstreaker easily dodged her attack. He found her feistiness to be intoxicating. The pleasure bots never revoked his advances and snarled such obscenities at him. It was very refreshing. His spike twinged in approval.

With lightning speed, Sunstreaker grabbed the errant fist, jerking it upward, the other wrist quickly joining it as he pulled the clutched wrists high over her head. Three heavy steps and her back collided with the metal wall. With both her hands held in his grip, Sunstreaker pinned her arms above her head, her pedes barely touching the floor. His strength was incredible. 

“Dear little femme,” he whispered in her audio as she growled at him, “I’m already in the pit. And you’re at my mercy.”

“Not if I get free,” she hissed, still defiant, her sightless optics trying to focus in on his face to display her righteous aggression. 

“The only thing you will be doing, is warming my berth,” Sunstreaker said, shoving his hand between her legs and pressing his fingers against the closed panel of her interface array. ”You are going to experience the true pleasure of being taken by the best.” 

“I don’t think so,” she snarled, slamming her head forward. She may have been blind but she wasn’t as helpless as he perceived her to be. Her forehead connected with his olfactory sensor, the pain temporarily blinding his visual relays. With a shout his grip lessened, giving her the advantage. When her feet touched the floor, she brought her knee up impacting his midsection so hard she felt the delicate covering of his protoform give slightly. The blow was staggering, but his build was still a lot sturdier than hers. 

Sunstreaker snarled, throwing the femme toward his berth, every instinct telling him to terminate her without thought. But he was determined to have his way with her. She was going to bend to his will even if he had to interface her into the berth. She would learn her place. She would be in awe of his ability to overload her in so many ways, she’d find all others inadequate to ever fulfill her the way the gladiator did. A small, secret part of him reared against the thought of allowing any other to touch her.

“Wrong move,” Sunstreaker growled. 

The femme felt the impact of the cushioned berth against her back as she fell onto it. Blindly she grasped the unfamiliar material, searching for something to use against her attacker. Sunstreaker pounced, quickly grabbing her wrists and rushing them together as he jerked them over her head, causing her to assume the same position as against the wall, though this time she was pinned between his body and the berth. 

’’Enough!” Sunstreaker yelled.

The command shouted mere inches from her face made her instantly still, her spark beating a fast tempo, sensing the mech so very near to her body. 

Sunstreaker shifted both her wrists to one hand and used his other to caress the side of her face, careful to not to touch the broken glass of her optics. “You are quite the specimen.”

“Don’t touch me,” she riled, trying once again to impact his face with her forehead, but Sunstreaker was ready for the assault. His training had taught him to anticipate his opponent, and never fall for the same trick twice.

“Let me make things clear,” Sunstreaker said lowly, his free hand grasping her helm and lifting it physically from the berth. “I have no qualms in taking you apart, piece by piece. How many pieces you end up in when I claim you is up to you.” To reiterate his threat, Sunstreaker casually wedged his fingertip under the thin plating along her split cheek and snapped his wrist, making a piece of the pliable metal tear away and go flying across the room.

The femme screamed as the metal was torn from her body, the raw nerve endings sending error messages across her internal display so rapidly it shorted her senses, causing her to manually reboot her tactile sensors.

“Do you understand me?” Sunstreaker asked, then slammed her head into the berth. Though the surface was cushioned, there was still hard metal just below its plush covering and the impact was forceful enough to create a dull, gonglike clang.

She gasped in pain, her internal display showing a comet like pattern as her visual relays jarred from the impact. “You slagger,” she sobbed, her voice broken by static.

Sunstreaker offered a low chuckle against her audio, “I’ve been called that many times.” His spike brushed against her lower abdomen causing her to flinch. 

“I’ll slagging kill you,” she whispered against his shoulder. He shifted slightly, more to get comfortable on top of her than out of concern of his crushing weight on her slight frame. ”I’ll kill you. When you least expect it, I’ll kill you.”

Sunstreaker gave a derisive snort, nuzzling against her head and whispering his response. “When I’m done with you, the only thing you’ll want is for me to have you as many times as I’m able.”

“You’ll never have me,” she answered, turning her head to speak against his audio. “You may ravage my body, but you will never have me.”

Sunstreaker rose to his elbow with great difficulty, looking into the face of the femme. 

Sunstreaker’s fingers traced along her jaw as he stared with abject wonder at the femme pinned beneath him. Here he was, a dominating, powerful mech that most femmes would be throwing themselves at and begging for him to face them. And here was, a small, helpless little femme, resistant to his charms and woefully ignorant of the dominate male that held her in his clutches. Poor femme must have never been with someone as strong and commanding as Sunstreaker. He smiled, relishing the idea of possessing her.

Her optics may be shattered, but they were still piercing, burning straight into his soul and causing that delicious shiver to tickle his senses. His finger went to the sensitive seam along her chest.

She held back a whimper, not wanting to give her attacker the satisfaction of knowing her level of terror. When his fingers traced the seam that hid her spark chamber, she immediately created defense protocols, preventing the plates from parting. Now, the only way he’d be able to merge, was to physically tear her chest apart, and if he did, the pain would be so all consuming, she’d slip into stasis, protected from feeling him as they joined. 

Hoping to show the femme his true desire to make her overload, Sunstreaker pulled her hands down to her sides, his hands dwarfing hers in a hard grasp as he shifted, raining sensual kisses along her throat. He was rewarded with a strangled gasp as he found a sensitive spot along her neck. Smiling, he traveled to the seam that hid her spark chamber, his glossa swirling on either side, before pressing his lips to the junction and applying just the right amount of pressure. His hands squeezed her smaller ones, displaying his control and desire, their joined hands coming to rest above her hips.

Her knees came up to his chest, every intention of kicking the mech in the face plates, but Sunstreaker recognized the danger before she had a chance to strike. He bit down, hard, on one knee, causing her to scream, her legs thrashing to ward off the offending denta. Sunstreaker used the distraction to part her legs, sliding his elbows between her thighs. 

She struggled against his hold, and almost jumped out of her plating when something brushed against her open legs. Optics wide in fear, she felt his helm casually moving between her thighs. With a sudden bout of inspiration, she scissored her legs together, pinning his helm into place. She may be constructed of lighter alloys, but she calculated she had enough strength in her legs to sufficiently dent his helm. She expected him to balk, maybe withdraw from her body and think twice about his actions. What she wasn’t expecting was to feel a languid swipe along her interface cover. 

She gasped at the odd sensation filtering through her sensor net. Thinking her attempt wasn’t forceful enough, she added more pressure to his helm, hoping to get her point across in actions, since his audios seemed to be malfunctioning. 

Sunstreaker purred against the bashful panel that beseeched him, hiding its treasure within. The femme’s legs held his head immobile, keeping him in perfect placement to worship the warm panel. He was a little surprised at the lack of lubricant, though a part of him chided that she only needed more coaxing. Then she would lubricate in submission. He strained his audios, hoping to hear words of encouragement, but she remained steadfastly silent, save for her heaving vents and low growls of warning. 

So, she was going to make him work for her approval? Well, that suited the gladiator just fine. He found he enjoyed the challenge. It had been a long time since he pursued a berthmate. His spark was spinning so fast, it threatened to hit the super sonic level. He briefly wondered why he didn’t practice such seduction on a regular basis, the anticipation building within his body was making his plating vibrate. Or perhaps it was the femme pinned beneath him that trembled so hard, his plating rattled? Either way, Sunstreaker had every intention of making the femme fall into a helpless, screaming overload. 

Sunstreaker licked the catches around her interface panel, rolling his lingula sensually from the edge to the center, where her valve remained hidden. He frowned when he noted the lack of wet seams that usually accompanied oral ministrations. The femme must really want him to earn her favor. Sunstreaker smiled, bending to task, his lips feathering kisses over the panel, his fingers intertwining with the femmes in a romantic gesture, though keeping his vice like grip, preventing mobility. Her arms jerked against her body as he suckled along the warm panel.

His spike gave a desperate throb, demanding to be sated and not teased any longer. But Sunstreaker ignored it, focusing his attention on the stubborn panel that refused to grant him access. He placed his lips against the center, directly over her valve and sucked greedily against the metal. He was rewarded with a surprised gasping mewl, her fingers tightening on his. 

When the panel remained steadfastly closed, Sunstreaker pouted, resigning to the fact that he would have to manually retract it. The thought sent chills through his spinal strut. This femme was proving to be quite the challenge. Reverently he started kissing up her torso, his glossa darting along the seam in her chest, her neck, suckling on the sensitive area he discovered. She hissed, but stifled the sound when he answered with a purr. He moved their twined hands to her side, where there was less strain on their shoulders and arms. The new position caused his spike to rest against her warm panel. He gave an involuntary shallow thrust from the proximity, his spike grazing across her interface panel in a delectable slide that sent frissons of want through his frame.

“Guess I’ll have to resort to manual retraction,” he said with a mock sigh of suffering.

“Don’t you dare, you vile, evil, Pit spawned slagger. I’ll fragging…” she breathed, using every ounce of hatred she could muster to color her words. 

“Later, my dear little femme,” Sunstreaker interrupted, daring to brush his lips against hers. She rose, trying to bite him, but he was too fast for her. 

He released one hand, intending on worshipping her body and causing its resolve to crumble, but her fist immediately lashed out, landing a solid blow on his jaw. Sunstreaker’s head barely moved with the impact, her fist making a faint clang as it was deflected with ease.

“Now, what did I say?” Sunstreaker snarled in her audio his grip tightening so hard she cried when she felt her protoform covering started to buckle from the pressure. 

Quick as lightning he yanked her hands to her sides and rocked her side to side. He slid her hands under her body, each palm now cupping her aft. She didn’t know how he did it, but the move immobilized her upper body. She was about to kick, and hopefully allow the action to free her hands, when Sunstreaker pressed his hip to hers, his opposite ankle pressed against her leg preventing closure. His weight added the proverbial nail in her coffin. 

She was pinned open and helpless. 

His fingers returned to their exploration, venturing to the soft plating of her torso, tracing the glyph for ‘mine’ before his fingers slipped between her legs. Her struggling renewed, feeling his probing digits search out and find the latches that manually retracted her interface cover. She struggled beneath him, trying to dislodge his weight and hopefully throw him off, but Sunstreaker was well versed in the art of securing a partner.

“Not so fast,” he chided, releasing the last catch. Her valve was now open to his inspection, and with a sickening sneer she couldn’t see, he accessed her most intimate of places.

Shock flashed across his features when he encountered a thin rubber rim circling the valve. Sunstreaker let out a groan of aroused approval, his spike straining in a tumid ovation.

He had wanted Grotto to find him someone who wasn’t as familiar with the berth as the pleasure slaves and here Grotto had found him an untried femme. A real, unclaimed femme! The chances of finding and obtaining one were astronomical. 

“Primus,” Sunstreaker muttered, slipping a finger inside and feeling the valve contract at the unexpected entry. 

The lining was especially tight, offering no give to his probing digit. His spike lubricated in thick pearls, dotting its crown in preparation. He looked down into the broken optics of the femme who had been snarling designations not befitting the fairer gender and wondered where such a treasure had been hidden. 

She showed the proper age, lacking growth seams and carried herself with the grace of someone with vorns of life. But what adult frame didn’t partake in carnal pleasures? She was such an enigma, and she was all his.

“So good,” Sunstreaker muttered, his optics closed as he brushed his lips along the femme’s neck. “You’re beautiful, do you know that?”

“Don’t,” the femme whimpered in his audio, having a hard time keeping her vocalizer steady. She was hoping to beseech his instinctual programming to protect a femme instead of violating her. Apparently her attacker didn’t have such basic coding.

“Shhhh,” Sunstreaker murmured, before joining their lips again in a kiss that, had the circumstances been different, the femme would have been melting and surrendering to without complaint. Sunstreaker certainly surrendered, his spark pulsing in adulation as he continued to kiss the femme.

Sunstreaker’s finger pushed in deeper, eliciting a muffled gasp. He smiled against her lips, knowing the femme was just as susceptible to his wiles as any other. Her hands twisted under her, but with Sunstreaker’s added weight pressing them down, her muscle cables were useless. Sunstreaker smirked, knowing she wanted to touch him and show him how grateful she was for his attention, but he kept his weight firmly in place, keeping her pinned. She would get the pleasure of touching him when he felt she was deserving.

A second finger slowly eased next to the first, and Sunstreaker had to bite back his own groan at the vice like tightness limiting his advance. 

“Primus, you’re so tight,” he muttered, feeling honored and humbled by the offering of her innocence. 

“Don’t do this,” she pleaded, her vocalizer starting to buzz with static as she tried to keep from crying. “This isn’t right. You don’t want to do this.”

“Sure I do,” Sunstreaker said, opening his optics to stare into her broken face, his spark surging like the tide in his chest. 

Primus, he was so close to getting everything he ever wanted, dreamed, or imagined. The piece that had been missing was slowly molding into place, making his fractured world whole. 

He leaned over her, brushing his lips against hers, the weight of the moment making him feel heady with want and desire. Intimacy was something that he knew was lacking in all the other femmes he berthed. They couldn’t make him complete, unlike the femme growling so hard her chassis was vibrating his plating. That sense of connection was almost snubbed out when she reared, trying to slam her head into his.

“Slagger! Who do you think you are?” she yelled, thrashing against the mech who pinned her in such a vulnerable position. 

“The mech of your dreams,” he said as he leaned down next to her audio, careful of her denta, and purred,”You know, this will be easier if you lubricated.”

“Not a chance, you evil slagger,” she growled, wiggling her hips to get away from his inquisitive fingers.

Sunstreaker chucked darkly, the sound sending chills straight through her spinal struts. She stilled, the seriousness of the situation finally settling into her processor and condemning her to her fate. 

“Have it your way. A torn valve doesn’t affect me,” he said, glancing between their bodies. He looked to his spike, which had been guarding the promised delicacy, hovering over her thin form, waiting to open her body to the pleasures of interfacing. Several drops of lubricate and transfluid had dripped onto her lower regions, marking his possession. 

Sunstreaker rotated his fingers, maneuvering them in and out of the tight confine in a slow rhythm, watching as the femme grimaced, turning her head aside as if suddenly ashamed of her weakness. The valve hesitantly clenched, as if testing its own limits to such intimate contact. Sunstreaker gasped as his fingers met resistance. If they were going to experience true intimacy together, her valve really needed preparing.

“You will know ultimate pleasure,” he said, pressing their foreheads together as he turned and pumped his fingers, readying the port for his introduction. His spark had stopped hammering against its casing. Now it thrummed, rising like the tide in his chest, ready to crest and flow unchecked into the perfect feminine vessel. 

He frowned at the continued friction being caused by his fingers, finding the untouched valve to be strangely unresponsive to his preparation. His fingers should be coated in lubricant, the passage becoming slick with want and invitation. But the femme was downright refusing to accept his advances and allow herself the proper preparation for interface. 

“Lubricate,” Sunstreaker whispered, his finger tracing a slow circle inside the taunt rim. His spike gave a twitch in anticipation, the tip weeping as its requests went unheeded. 

She growled an oath at him that would have scared the gladiators in the pit. 

Sunstreaker chuckled deep in his chassis, the vibration traveling down to his digits that continued to stretch the valve. Oh, she was a feisty femme, that much was for certain. Her resistance only made her more appealing to the gladiator.

Without warning he extracted his digits from her valve and smiled as she whimpered at the loss. He ran his fingers languidly along the length of his spike, collecting the drops of lubricant and transfluid. The spike bobbed with need, a few translucent drops escaping to twine the length, briskly collected by Sunstreaker’s fingers. When his fingers were sufficiently slick he slowly pushed them inside the valve, his actions greeted by a strangled gasp.

She squirmed, trying to get away, but his heavier weight made any effort futile. Abandoning any further attempt at foreplay, his fingers started a quick pace, first circling the entrance, then pumping, spreading the lubricant. Soft noises escaped her as she thrashed, trying to quell the responses of her body.

Sunstreaker was done waiting for the femme to naturally submit to him. He enjoyed the task of trying to earn her favor, but after having felt her disinterest coming from her valve, it was time to show the femme who was in control. He had done enough to persuade her into dutifully lubricating, waiting and willing to be opened by his presence. But with the pain throbbing in his ignored spike, he couldn’t hold off any longer. 

His spike had waited long enough, the pressure becoming excruciating in his lower regions. He shifted to angle himself for entry, when she twisted, slamming her legs partly together. But Sunstreaker wasn’t going to be dissuaded. He wedged his thigh between her knees, trying to pry them apart but the femme was proving to be stronger than she looked. Frustrated, Sunstreaker cuffed her on the cheek, splitting the already compromised metal. She cried out from the impact, but the distraction was enough to allow Sunstreaker to settle comfortably between her legs. 

The femme thrashed, her legs kicking and twisting, making Sunstreaker’s triumphant moment become more difficult to obtain. 

The femme wasn’t going to be taken gently.

To ensure her complete immobility, Sunstreaker placed his arm across her lower abdomen, the weight still adequate to prevent her from retaliating, causing her hip joints to groan in protest. With his free hand he grasp his spike, feeling the hot metal tingle, the charge already primed for release, and lined himself up. Tears of pearls fell against the rim as he presented himself to the valve. 

“I’ll kill you,” she said, anger giving her voice strength.

“Many have tried,” Sunstreaker said, his attention on the seductive slide of his spike against the silkiness of her innocence. 

She cursed his existence, his mech hood, his family, and everything else she could think of. 

But Sunstreaker didn’t care. His focus was entirely on the intimate kiss on the tip of his spike. He wanted to prolong this moment for as long as he could. It had been a long time coming and he wanted to savor every second of it. With slow reverence he circled the rubber rim, savoring the feel of the smooth texture. It was a harsh contrast to the profanity flowing from the femme’s vocalizer. His spike continued to lubricate, barely withstanding the denial of her claiming, as Sunstreaker continued to circle, creating a silver halo that innocently beckoned him. He pressed the head of his spike inside, just past the rim, loving the sensation of the rim straining to its limit as it struggled around his girth. 

His spike gave a desperate throb, demanding to be sated and not teased any longer. The sentiment was echoed by his spark, its agony of completion making him feel heady with desperation. His soul was straining, ready to be seduced by the femme who could offer it true release. 

“You slagger,” she breathed, feeling him press against her entrance. “I’ll kill you! Do you hear me? You’re slagging dead! I’ll…!”

Her words were cut off as Sunstreaker buried himself to the hilt. He felt the sudden presence of the most astonishing heat encasing his spike. The pleasure slaves had never been this hot, this tight. It was the most exquisite thing he’d ever known. It was like a volcanic vice had grasped his spike, hitting all the right sensors and activating the sudden need for overload. It was so intensely beautiful, it was painful.

Sunstreaker’s gasp of pleasure was drown out by her voice. The femme screamed, her body going rigid as the pain blossomed from her valve, spreading out in an all consuming inferno that threatened to burn her plating from the inside out. She cried out, her voice one long drawn howl of pain as the large spike cleaved her in two. She felt as if she was falling apart, the crack in her soul creating little fissures that grew and expanded, pulling her apart as her valve stretched for the first time, barely containing the intruding spike.

“Oh primus, oh primus, ….primus.” Sunstreaker chanted the soft litany in her audio, feeling the too snug fit around his spike. He shuddered, feeling the first inquisitive waves of her valve, clenching in both welcome and angered violation. The nodes, having never experienced a charge, flared to life, starting to manipulate the spike in tentative ripples.

But it was too much.

The painfully tight valve, coupled with the heat of her body, the satisfaction of having awakened her senses to the pleasures of interface, and by Primus, the small experimental clenches of her valve were too much for the gladiator. Sunstreaker felt as if his transfluid was connected to his spinal struts. He bent over her body, feeling the violent rush of transfluid down his spike.

Sunstreaker’s spike erupted in a violent wave, transfluid jetting in a long stream that christened the valve and bathed it in silver. Shaking with each shudder of his spike, Sunstreaker sputtered, trying to center himself during the maelstrom of excess sensor input but finding himself unable to control the direction. It was like a dam had opened, breaking through to his very core and releasing all the bottled up desperation, need, and lust that tainted his very spark.

Sunstreaker felt his body rejoice, finally able to find true release, his processor overcome with gratitude and elation that it had finally come to fruition after so long of being deprived of such intimate connection. Unbidden, joy and passion filled Sunstreaker’s soul, his spark singing in its casing, applauding the connection that was made as it tumbled along the fierce tide of emotions rocketing through his processor. 

The femme sputtered, feeling the sudden explosion of heat that eased the burning pain in her valve. She choked back a sob, her face turned away from her assailant as she felt the liquid heat fill her being before spilling down her aft and thighs. His spike twitched as her nodes sparked in confusion, the little spurts of transfluid being absorbed by the newly awakened valve, slicking it for further coupling.

Sunstreaker dropped onto his elbows in exhaustion. He panted in her audio, his voice gruff and vibrating low in his chassis. The sound sent shivers through her traitorous body, pooling in her lower regions that made her tanks churn in self disgust.

“I …I did…. not…” Sunstreaker panted, his body giving an involuntary thrust that had him groaning in her audio as he collapsed fully on top of her. “I have never…. overloaded…. so quickly before.”

The femme felt her resolve crumble, her body twitching in pain and want. Both emotions were clamoring for dominance in her newly aroused body. She cursed her weakness, her ineptitude of protecting herself and allowing herself to be taken by such a loathsome mech. The universe had a wicked streak, and she felt utterly betrayed. 

Her foggy processor finally caught up to his broken words and with a desperate cry, she realized he wasn’t sorry for what he did. He was merely embarrassed he had overloaded so quickly, and with his lavish attention now on her neck and face, he wasn’t finished with her yet. 

“But give me some time to recover,” Sunstreaker said, kissing the column of her throat and licking at the erogenous zone that left her gasping and arching against him, wanton whimpers carrying from her vocalizer. “And I’ll show you what I can really do.”

She buried her face against his neck, shaking with fear and the unexpected flare of arousal that came from her newly awakened valve.


	10. Chapter Ten

000000------oooooo------0000000-------ooooooo--------  
Sunstreaker shakily rose on his elbows, looking into the face of the femme who trembled beneath him. His optics lingered on her face, taking in the busted cheek, the gray primer peeking through the white of her facial plates. A light sheen of blue energon stained the wound, giving it the aspect of being much deeper. Her broken optics were dark, giving her a haunted aspect. The aura was intensified by her quivering bottom lip and short, ragged breaths through her vents. She seemed so helpless.

Something rose in Sunstreaker, stalling his breathing function. She was scared and defenseless, her body trembling so hard it vibrated his plating. Primus, she was so small and perfect. 

He could lose himself in her forever. 

She was his. And he was never going to let her go. 

Sunstreaker nuzzled the femme’s audio, his lips tantalizing and tender as he tried to entice her into reciprocating a kiss. His spark flared at the thought of her lips against his, supple and inviting. The passion behind her words as she rallied against him, defying him with every fiber of her being, only to submit to the emotion and feel the strength of the one claiming her. Now she lay bare, open and vulnerable to his wiles.

She turned her head, refusing to accept his advances. The pain had receded from her valve, though there was a lingering throb deep in her core near the tip of his limp spike still buried within her. She scowled at her traitorous body, her processor a whir on potential ways to seek retribution, both on herself and the mech violating her. 

So caught up in her secret plans of befitting correction, she jumped in surprise when Sunstreaker’s lips caught her own. His glossa teased along her lip plating, before shyly slipping into her mouth, tangling and worshipping her obvious inexperience. Her hesitancy sparked something deep in his soul, igniting a flame that had never been kindled in his frozen spark.

He rocked first left, then right, slipping his hands around her wrists and pulling her trapped hands free from under her aft. The motion caused his spike to stir, slowly awakening it from its temporary hibernation. 

She whimpered, feeling the spike starting to swell, pressing against the raw lining of her valve, until it filled her completely again. She bit back a cry, not wanting to give the mech the inclination that he was having any type of desirable effect on her. 

She wasn’t expecting Sunstreaker’s careful massaging of her wrists and hands, his fingers dauting hers before intertwining them. He brought her left hand to his face, pressing it against his cheek before planting a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist. He closed his optics, relishing in the shyness she exuded, her touch fearful against him as he brushed his lips against her wrists, her palm, her fingers, his actions silently beseeching her delicate touch. 

The attention distracted her from the gentle rocking of his hips, giving the sensors their first brush of intimacy.

The heat and friction of their bodies disintegrated the last trace of her innocence until the outer, most sensitive node was finally uncovered. Sparks flared across her internal vision as the sensor was touched for the first time. Unbidden she lubricated, feeling a whole new sensation tingle along her opening and the lusty charge as the spike raked across its surface. 

Sunstreaker released her hands, first guiding her left to his shoulder, then her right directly over his spark chamber in a very intimate gesture. He pressed her hand over his spark chamber, willing her to sense the beat of his life, so strong and commanding, yet still in perfect sync with her own, letting her feel their spiritual connection.

The shifting of his body changed the angle of penetration, and subconsciously, a little mew escaped her lips. Sunstreaker smiled, bracing himself on his elbows as he continued his lazy thrusts, feeling the gentle glide of his spike being taken inside her now very lubricated valve. 

His hand caressed her shoulder, his optics staring in wonder at the beautiful femme who looked to him for protection. She quailed beneath him, accepting him as a haven to keep her safe, away from the things that would do her harm. He wanted to weep as his spark began to sing in a way he’d never known. It was rejoicing, nearly tearing itself out of its casing by the sheer intensity of its burning. He traced over her shoulder, her chest plates, feeling the thrum of her spark, and slid along the slender waist, his hand cupping her hip. She mewled against him, her voice a whimpering cry in his audio as she surged in time with his thrust. 

Oh yes, this is what he wanted. 'This' is what had been missing. After all this time, he finally found what was lacking. It wasn’t the fast, furious pace to achieve the quickest overload. To feel yourself go past your limits, the fleeting moments leading to a complete blur that was quickly forgotten. It wasn’t brutality or the mindless eagerness of the other partner. It wasn’t the need to slake the carnal desire that bubbled continuously in the back of his processor.

It was true, raw emotional 'connection'. The sounds made by a partner who was under the spell of seduction. Becoming one with his partner and feeling their honest reaction to his ministrations. There was no dominance or submission, just the sensation of each other, each giving and accepting in the perfect dance of intimacy. He allowed himself to be lost in the moment, wanting so desperately to remain forever inside the accepting heat of her body.

Her face contorted for a second, a wince of pain crossing her features as he withdrew, allowing the enlarged tip to gride across the upper ceiling nodes, granting them the charge they so desperately sought. 

The valve offered no resistance to his intrusion, just like the femme beneath him. She had stopped her weak attempts at harming him. Her hands reposed where he had positioned them as her body rocked slowly in time with his thrusts. Sunstreaker carefully lifted her hip to meet his thrust, the head of his spike massaging the lining to strike the cluster of nodes in the back of the valve. She gave an involuntary gasp as the nodes accepted their first charge, her fingers curling against his plating as she tried to anchor herself to him.

The femme silently cursed her traitorous body. It wasn’t wise to encourage an attacker, and if she wanted to survive this ordeal, she would have to remain obdurate to his advances. She sent a reprisal command to her body, but now that the charge was starting to build, her body stirring for the first time, there was no chance of ignoring the ingrain need for completion. 

Though she was loath to admit it, he was being strangely gentle, a vast contrast to the first claiming of her body. She inwardly frowned, wondering why he was taking his time and showing such generosity. 

Where was the callous, vicious intruder that violated her without hesitation?

Unable to look into his face, she couldn’t read his emotion, but if she had gazed into his optics, she would have been greatly surprised. 

They were dark with arousal, but there was also a tenderness, and a true yearning to bring his partner to completion. And something else sparkling within the depths of the brilliant blue optics, though neither partner was able to voice its existence.

Her hand slipped from his shoulder, and out of instinct, her fingers found purchase along his protoform covering as he continued to move. He groaned above her, thinking her actions were in answer to his ministrations, and leaned over her body, his glossa teasing her lips before slipping inside and tangling with her glossa in a sensual dance, his weight dropping back onto his elbows.

She shook her head from side to side, trying to dissuade his affections, but Sunstreaker purred in her audio, “Take me.” He gave a languorous thrust, circling his hips slowly to stimulate all her nodes. “Feel me filling you, taking you to the edge.”

His transfluid reserves were empty from the first processor shattering overload. But as he continued his languid thrusting, he could feel the reserves building. When they reached their tipping point, he’d feel the charge signal its readiness for release. And with the wonderful sensations consuming his spike and spreading to encompass his body from the tight, perfect, beautiful femme, this overload was going to be the best yet. 

Primus, he was so gifted. He felt as if he’d melt, forever sealing himself inside the femme and spending the rest of their existence in a state of endless pleasure. Sunstreaker’s spike throbbed in affirmation.  
Sensations he never dreamt imaginable was caressing his body and filling his spirit. He was slowly being lifted toward the heavens, soaring high above the planet, this strange feeling keeping him aloft and overcoming his senses. His spark was singing a foreign song to the skies, the words unknown but the sentiment behind them giving them physical manifestation as he gazed down into the face of the femme whimpering in perfect time to his song. 

He kissed along her neck murmuring words of encouragement as he felt her move against him. She couldn’t help it. The sensation was overriding all coherent thought. Her rational mind was tossed out the window while the evil, talented, attacker made her body waken to the oddest, yet overwhelming sensations, blacking out all thought processes. She tilted her head back gasping as the ceiling nodes were stimulated by his angled thrusting at her entrance, before filling her to the point of bursting. Sunstreaker took the opportunity to suck on the cabling along her throat. She gave a simpering whine in answer, her fingertips digging into his plating, encouraging him.

“That’s it,” he muttered into her audio, slowly burying himself inside her heat and circling his hips, stimulating more sensors with a lazy withdraw. “I want to watch you overload.”

Well, that wasn’t going to happen, the femme thought to herself. The last thing she wanted to do was appease her assailant. But still, she couldn’t control the charge that was building, and if he continued with his slow, gentle handling, she would undoubtedly overload. She cursed as she felt a coiling in her lower abdomen, signaling his effect on her body. She tried to think of a proper retribution against the betrayal of her body, but the next time he buried himself, she felt her core heat in the most exquisite pleasure that caused her body to twitch.

The slagging, glitched up fragger. If she ever encountered him again, she promised she’d end his existence, consequences be slagged! She would hunt down him, find him, and inflict the most…… Oh!

Just as revenge flared across her processor, her body trembled, disrupting her internal raging. She gasped, a small spasm rolling through her body and stealing over her as the charge increased.

Sunstreaker continued to move, his pace increasing when he felt the friction shift to a higher charge. Primus, she was really responding to him. 

The femme tried to hold her vocalizer, but the feeling of the spike almost pulling out before delving back into her valve was building the most delicious sensation. She cursed her valve and all the wonderful things it was currently doing to her self control. The spike acted as if it knew her body, probing the deep recesses and stimulating the sensors, a strange heat brewing in her lower belly. Whatever was going to happened, it was going to happen soon. She felt as if she was ready to burst. 

Sunstreaker must have felt it too because he shifted his hips, spiraling his spike around her valve as he withdrew paying particular attention to her entrance as it strained against the enlarged tip before pulling free of her body.

She gasped at the sudden emptiness, her vocalizer getting the better of her and emitting a simpering moan.

He smiled, pressing his spike to her entrance and lightly pumping his hips, only allowing the valve to suckle the tip. He wanted to prolong their coupling, opting for caressing the rim and the newly awakened nodes that lined her entrance. A violent throb greeted the tip of his spike when he found her sensitive nub straining for attention.

The action was greeted by a growling hiss as the femme jerked from the stimulated sensors. He closed his optics, savoring the sounds coming from her vocalizer. The whimpers, the gasps, the soft mews, all creating a beautiful symphony that blended perfectly to the wet sounds of their joining. Music, in its most purest, beautifully physical, form. 

Slowly, he penetrated her, inching himself forward until his entire spike was sheltered inside her body. He felt the tip brush against the recessed nodes and exchange a violent charge. She gave lusty keen, arching into the sensation, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

Sunstreaker smiled, knowing that was the spot that sent most femmes howling into overload. He knew how to stimulate and thankfully, had no problem burying himself that deep to appease them. 

Her valve gave a clench, preparing for the main contraction that would spiral both lovers into overload. She gasped, her hands landing on his waist, her fingers gliding across the smooth panels of polished metal. 

Sunstreaker groaned. Though the pleasure bots had touched him in such a way, there was something about the unsure, hesitant moves of the femme that made the whole experience new and invigorating. Primus, he was going to claim her, keeping her in his berth until the end of time. He never wanted to let her go. Just the thought of having her waiting for him every evening and waking with her in his berth was enough to overcome his senses. He buried himself to the hilt, his gasp drowning out her voice as her palms flattened against his back, legs tightening around his waist pulling him inside, claiming him as her own. 

“Primus,” Sunstreaker breathed in her audio, their bodies coming to together in a perfect mold. “You undo me.”

Heat enveloped her body, burning her plating, causing her melt from the inside out, but she didn’t care. The beautiful charge coming from her valve was promising something truly spectacular, something she would never forget and would demand from future lovers. 

Their chests banged together as they bowed in total planet shattering pleasure, transferring their paint, gold to white, white to gold. The femme felt the heat explode from her belly, blossoming outward, traveling every line, shaking every muscle cable, tingling every derma sensor, the stimuli too much for her processor to take in. 

Little arcs of pure white electricity danced along her plating, sending her screaming in climax. All senses centered on the spike that set off her internal fireworks. With a pleasurable gasping cry she overloaded for the first time, her valve clamping down on the spike and demanding its essence be spilled. 

Sunstreaker felt the tight heat give a small tremor in warning before the valve grabbed and pulled him into the deepest, darkest place of ultimate satisfaction. The charge electrified his plating, white arcs sizzling between them as the energy discharged, cackling and filing the room with the scent of burnt ozone.

The valve spiraled tighter, holding the spike into place and beckoning its immediate discharge. Sunstreaker shuddered, his entire spinal strut turning to liquid metal as his transfluid fought for release. 

He overloaded with a roar, feeling the valve squeeze and caress him into accepting its offering of heaven. Her voice chorused with his, keening and lustful as she trembled from the onslaught of sensations bombarding her sensors. Her processor coalesced the signals into one giant writhing mass of unending passion, firing at her from all angles and sending her into a confused whirlwind of exploding light, color, and sound. She gasped when she felt the hot jets strike the recessed nodes, sending her crying into another release, her arms tightening around him and pulling him flush against her in unrestrained ecstasy. 

With the sudden rush of transfluid, coupled with the electric sparks dancing between them, Sunstreaker felt himself lift up, as something was literally pulling him free. The darkness in his spark receded, replaced by pure, blinding, glorious light. The light exploded outward, consuming his body, wiping away all traces of longing and loneliness. His processor felt overtaxed, like he was spinning so fast he’d go flying off into the vacuum of space.

The little tingles that danced across their plating became super novas, flaring to life and creating their own little miniature universes, full of energy and promise, before winking out of existence, their ephemeral beauty fading into obscurity. 

He lay panting against her neck for a moment, his systems firing random bursts of energy, his spike going limp inside her, crying silver transfluid and bathing the still clenching valve with grateful tears.

So, this is what it was like to have a complete overload Sunstreaker thought. Primus, he never wanted anything else. This intimacy, this connection was what he craved and what had been missing this entire time. He vowed then and there to take the femme away from the dark underground world, and give her everything she would ever want, need, or ask for. He had enough credits to keep her happy. And if they ran out, well, he’d fight through the worst pit spawned monsters, just to keep her happy. He didn’t want to admit it, but the noises she made drove him insane. He’d have to take her again. Just not anytime soon. For the first time in a very long time, his overload shut down protocols initiated. They had remained dormant for so long, it took them some time to remember their purpose. 

Primus, if it felt this good to spike her, he could just imagine what a spark merge would do. 

Sunstreaker sighed, completely sated for the first time in his collected memory files. He vented sharply, his fans whirling on high to dispel the heat that rolled off his frame and joined with the reluctant heat of the femme, creating a shimmering halo around their joined bodies.

Sunstreaker shakily balanced himself on his elbows, bracketing the femme between them. Trembling he rubbed his cheek against hers, his lips tracing the soft curve of her feminine plating along her jawline. His lips hesitantly brushed hers before claiming them in a relaxed, passionate kiss. She didn’t resist, which should have alerted him, but so lost in post overload euphoria, he didn’t notice the change in her demeanor. Course if he had, he probably would have chalked it up to having the best overload of her life. He certainly had relished every second of it. And he had every intention of losing himself again with the femme. 

But the strain of seduction and total submission to lust had taken its toll on his still healing body. His shut down protocols started their sequence, pulling him down into a peace filled slumber his spark had never known before. He ground against her, his body wracked with involuntary spasms, his spike continuously milked by the rippling valve. Each time his hips surged against her, transfluid erupted, striking the top most nodes in her valve. She arched against him, feeling the sudden burst of charged transfluid hit her overly sensitive nodes, causing her to continue to tremble in pure ecstasy as the main cluster was stimulated.

She felt his weight press her into the cushioned berth, his head the only part that seemed capable of voluntary movement as he continued his passionate kiss. The gentleness of the action frightened and aroused her. Her valve spiraled protectively, refusing to relinquish its hold. She cursed and blessed the traitorous valve at the same time.

She tried to turn her head away, ashamed of the mews and pleasured gasps that escaped like a musical composition, but the mech’s talented glossa was currently engaging her own, making her loathe to part from him. The humiliation she felt battered away at her consciousness, reminding her the way her body surged against him in wanton abandon and how she should not be allowing such amorous affections. But, she never intended to have the most sensational, processor blowing overload of her life with the mech who violated her. His ego didn’t need any more inflation. She could just imagine the smug look on his face as he moved within her, the lingering charge and heavy lubricants making his passage easy and welcoming. 

Slagging sensor nodes. She chastised herself. Idiotic, glitched, fragged up design flaw that just experienced the most fantastic sensation of her entire life. Course she would never admit that to anyone, lest of all the mech still buried inside her and continuing to pump his transfluid into her valve and keeping it in a state of processor blowing arousal. 

Sunstreaker was reluctant to break the kiss, savoring her taste, whimpers, and tiny post overload spasms that shook her body down to the core. He gave a phantom thrust, his gold paint marring her monochromatic features, highlighting their interface panels as they ground together in continued intimacy.

“Mine,” he whispered against her mouth before his shutdown protocols pulled him into recharge. His last fleeting thought was the achingly sweet release and utter completion he felt.

Hatred boiled in the femme once again, though it fought valiantly with the sexual tremors that still lingered due to the talented mech.

Hands free and her assailant now quiescent above her, she touched him experimentally. When her hand traced his back and sides with no reaction, aside from the phantom thrusts and the endless stream of transfluid being bled into her body, he was completely unresponsive. Her hands caressed his sides, then his arms, feeling the powerful cables that indicated his considerable strength. She gave an involuntary shiver, knowing the potency possessed in his lithe frame.

She wedged her hands between their bodies, wiggling them free to slide up his neck and encase his head. Probing along the cranial seams of his protoform, she sought the familiar indentation for port accessibility, and with a soft click, was granted instant access.

“Now,” she said, her fingers nibble to their task. “You’re mine.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

0000000-------oooooo------000000------ooooooo--------

 

Sunstreaker awoke to a pleasant sensation. He was floating on a cloud, letting the sun warm him body and soul, the wind caress his weary body, and the all encompassing light devour his spark. Primus, this was what it was like to wake up free… free from anger, pain, loneliness, the need to dominate. It was all gone, erased by the simple act of finding the prefect femme and accepting her gift of innocence and allowing it to claim him, washing away all his sins. 

Groggily he made to open his optics, but only blackness registered. He couldn’t remember having his quarters so dark. He never liked to charge in darkness. Too consuming. The vile tings that plagued his processor would come alive in the dark.

Figuring a bulb had blown in the illumination bank, he made to get up, but his body remained immobile. Perhaps the overload had messed with his systems? It certainly had been memorable and if the sheer amount of transfluid he spilled was any indication, it was a long time in coming. Perhaps his restart programs had failed to initialize completely? Wouldn’t be surprising, considering the just experienced the best overload of his life.

It was then that Sunstreaker noticed the coolness along his processor, like the wind from his phantom world was invading his mind. Cool air was brushing his cortex, but he knew that was impossible.

“Oh, you finally decided to reboot,” a femme voice said close by his head. Sunstreaker tried to turn in the direction of the voice, but found his body incapable of movement. 

“You can’t move,” she said as matter of flatly. “At least, not for a little while.”

He offered a low hum in acknowledgement. It must have been one fragging excellent overload to keep him this exhausted. Every cable and line felt relaxed and soothed. Definitely a processor blowing overload. He realized that was the only way to end an evening, and he had every intention of making it a habit.

“Of course, I’ll be long gone by the time you regain mobility,” she added, her voice as sweet as steel. 

It was then Sunstreaker could feel the thin wire dancing along his plating, rubbing against his cheek in an almost sensual manner. 

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I just have to crack your last firewalls, then add a little extra something, and you’ll be ready,” she said, her fingers finding his cheek and caressing, using the same manner of seduction on him as he used against her. 

“Ready for what?” Sunstreaker asked, suddenly feeling as if his cloud had just turned to acid and was trying to eat him alive. “Did you severe my motor functions?”

“Nothing that drastic. Just a little something…. Special, for you.” She continued to pull up random files, accessing them with ease and then tossing them back into the chaos of his mind. “Don’t need you breaking the connection. An unfinished installation could lead to all kinds of glitches and problems.” 

“I don’t let anyone mess with my programming,” Sunstreaker said, his voice strong and commanding. 

Sunstreaker couldn’t see with his optics relays, but his internal vision was still functioning. He watched in fearful wonder as his base line coding flicked up on his HUD, its defensive fire wall shattering under her expert manipulation. 

“Stop!” he barked, fear making his voice raspy. 

“Under section two thousand eighteen, subsection alpha, if a mech or femme forces themselves into a merge or interface with an unwilling partner, it is lawfully up to the victim to choose the form of punishment for such flagrant immoral violence against a fellow Cybertronian,” she said softly kissing his temple, her hand going to caress his arm in a supplicating manner.

“What are you, a politician?” Sunstreaker asked, feeling very vulnerable. He had taken great care in not letting her know his designation, nor give her the opportunity to touch his face, fearing she’d be able to create a model of her attacker if she ever went to the authorities. Now it looked like she was using the old code of Cybertron against him. Something he didn’t factor into when he had wanted a femme or claimed the one now actively perusing his cortex.

“No, no politician, though I have friends in such fields,” she said causally, as if the two were discussing the changing weather patterns. 

“No, just a student,” she said, her connection to his main processor making her queasy She still wasn’t used to hardline connections like this.

Sunstreaker bit back a whimper. A student he could deal with. At least she wasn’t a politician of high office or Security Response. Either scenario was bad, as in astronomically, universe altering, possible deactivation, BAD. Sunstreaker was privy to a lot of very secret information. If she extracted any of it and presented it to the authorities, not only would Sunstreaker face a termination sentence, but everyone he’d ever met in the illegal fighting circuit. But as he watched the manipulation of the files he realized she wasn’t extracting anything. It looked like she was enabling patches, or reorganizing his routines. 

“Just a student who focused all her life on learning, wanting to be the best and respected amongst her peers. And innocent, wistful student, ignorant to the world and the evil that lurks beneath its surface.” Her hands caressed the side of his face in a very intimate, gentle manner. The continuous codes that flashed across his HUD started to give him a processor ache, but then again, with the femme actively pursuing his programming, it was no wonder.

“Yes, just a naive, socially stunted, yet… mature… student,” she continued, breaking through feeble firewalls. Sunstreaker gasped as he sensed her in his consciousness. He tried to move, hoping to distance himself from the mental invader, but she had done an excellent job in retraining him.

“Just a simple medical student,” Her lips were next to his audio when she added, “One who specializes in programming.”

“Slag,” Sunstreaker hissed, feeling his energon run cold. If she was what she proclaimed, she just trumped his dominance. He felt a cool trickling sensation filter over his body, like water flowing over his plating. It was very disconcerting, but strangely soothing. 

“What are you doing to me?” Sunstreaker asked hoping to keep fear from his voice. He could only watch as streams of code sprang to life before segmenting, fracturing and blending into the existent coding. He didn’t know much about programming and hard drives, but the femme was proving just how adept she was. The machine code and text overlapped and segmented, pieces filtering away, securing their new home in the base line coding. It was very precise, and only manipulated by those with vast scientific knowledge. 

And that little voice in the back of Sunstreaker’s processor started speaking. The voice was loud and demanding in his audio about finding what was missing. And the answer just sprang into his processor, clear as day.

The femme was showing gratitude for his generosity. She wasn’t attacking him. If she wanted to harm him, she could have done so as he recharged, his body vulnerable from the overwhelming overload. He wouldn’t have been able to fend off an attack, even if he could have regained consciousness.

But she hadn’t attacked him. She had simply hacked into his processor and was downloading new codes, which judging by the way his body readily accepted her commands, weren’t hostile. Surely if she meant him harm his systems would be rejecting her advances and initiating certain protocols to protect him. 

No, she was only showing him her gratitude for opening her up to interfacing. That was it. She was thankful he had taken her, given her a mind blowing overload, shown her the true mecca of physical pleasure, and now she was trying to bestow a gift to him. 

Perhaps something that would be useful in the berth? 

He marginally relaxed; thinking that was more than likely the cause. She had immobilized him so he couldn’t disrupt the program transfer, and like she said, if such a download was interrupted, it could cause a system wide glitch or cascading failure. She had shown no aggressive behavior toward him since his waking. In fact, she had been very nurturing, bordering on seductive as she caressed his body while she worked. It was a very pleasant sensation. 

She hummed against his audio her lips brushing against his cheek and jaw. Sunstreaker melted under her ministrations. She trusted him during their interface, he should trust her. That’s how this worked, right? 

“Nearly there,” she purred in his ear, boldly pressing a kiss against his cheek, then planting feathery touches along the plane of his jaw until she claimed his lips. 

He was unable to move his body, but he still had mobility with his glossa. He molded into the kiss, his engine revving when he felt her hand slide up his arm, over his chest and travel to his the top of his interface panel. His spike hadn’t retracted when he offlined after his overload.

Her finger traced the length of his limp spike, as if testing its capabilities. The spike pressurized under her ministrations, bobbing in a mating dance with her hand as she stroked him into hardness. 

Sunstreaker whimpered, completely helpless. He loved his spike and the wonderful things it could do, both to the femmes he dominated and the delicious sensations it flooded into his processor. He was hoping for another exploding overload, but his reserves were still running empty. It was going to take some time for him to recover.

Blinding following the gentle manipulator like a love struck youngling begging for affection, the solid spike rubbed and swayed in perfect tandem with her elegant fingers. The tip offered a tiny silver pearl in offering, but the blind femme couldn’t witness its gift. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she murmured, her hand worshiping the spike with a strange, practiced grace. It was like she knew every nuance of his body, and she was determined to test his willingness, his boundaries, his complete abandonment. 

As her hand continued its languid pace, earning a twitch from his spike with each stroke, she leaned over his inert form.

“Do you feel that?” she asked, her voice husky with part arousal and part satisfaction of what was to come. Her finger teased the slit before dauting the underside of his length.

“Yes,” Sunstreaker hissed, unable to keep the wanton lilt from his voice. Primus, for an untried femme, she certainly knew how to manipulate a spike.

“The feel of a body, working with your own,” she said softly, her olfactory sensor brushing his cheek as she nestled against his neck. Her fingers teased the base of his spike, massaging the junction before starting a long, twisting pull to the tip. “The gentle touch of a lover. The sensation of having someone to complete you, pulling you up into the stratosphere, flying high above the world, knowing only each other and the joy of completion.”

“Yessss,” Sunstreaker groaned, lost in her voice and to the magnificent caresses of her hand. Maybe he underestimated her? Maybe she only wanted to satisfy him, as he had satisfied her?

“Two halves joining to become a whole,” she said, her wrist giving a little twist on the head of the spike. Lubricant was flowing freely down the spike, slicking her hand and making its passage that much more sensual. “Both finding that perfect moment of release, where there is nothing else but the feel of their bodies, and the union created by mutual love and adoration.”

“Oh, Primus, yes,” Sunstreaker breathed, his body starting to vibrate with the building tension. 

She pressed a chaste kiss against his neck before rising to speak into his audio receptor. “And you took that away from me.”

Sunstreaker instantly stiffened. He panted through his vents, fear rising to override the beautiful charge that had been building in his interface array. She couldn’t mean what he thought she did? Did she? The sudden pressure at the base of his spike was his answer.

Sunstreaker couldn’t stop the broken cry from escaping. His treacherous body had allowed itself to be swayed by the femme. That voice in the back of his processor was a traitor, wanting nothing more than to see his downfall. 

Though he couldn’t control his actions, something must have connected, because his body began to tremble.

The femme felt the tremors and pressed her lips against his audio sensors, and there was no mistaking the smile that graced her fractured face. “You feel that? It’s basic, instinctual programming. The primal need for self preservation. Fight or retreat. Knowing that you are powerless, helpless.” 

Her breathy exhale against his audio sensor caused a stronger tremor to rattle his plating.

“Stop it,” he whispered, hating how feeble his voice sounded.

“It’s not fun, is it?” she asked, her voice dipping into sorrowful tones. “To be blind and scared, helpless and vulnerable. Having another person, a stranger, in control of your body and doing things against your will.”

A raw piercing ache erupted in his main processor. Sunstreaker screamed so hard it strained his vocalizer, but the pitch only reached a few decibels before cutting out to fuzzy static. The pain receded as a new program folder was opened, the femme easily skimming through the files and adding redundant codes that the body would mistake as basic programming. When it tried to initiate removal protocols, the redundancy programs would kick in, rendering any attempt void, the system spinning in metaphorical circles. 

The femme tutted, scolding him like an unruly sparkling. “Now, now, don’t need to alert anyone else to what we’re doing. Wouldn’t seem right.”

“What did you do?” Sunstreaker asked his voice harsh from the sudden jamming of his vocals. 

“Just a minor rerouting,” she said nonchalantly, continuing unhurried through his programming codes. Her hand was still idly caressing the spike, its actions completely enraptured with the temptress teasing it from base to tip. “Just like interfacing, this is something between the two of us. Don’t need someone to hear and disrupt the good time we’re having.”

Sunstreaker bit back a cry of desperation. This femme was cold, calculating, and if the flashing codes scrolling across his internal display were any indication, she was very thorough and knowledgeable. He was totally and utterly slagged. 

“Don’t do this,” Sunstreaker gasped, feeling as if something heavy was weighing his spark. He suddenly felt very small and insignificant.

“My dear mech,” she purred against his audio, using his own words against him. “It is now 'your' turn to be claimed by the best.”

Expert fingers found the sensitive grooves along the spike and with the learned knowledge of medical journals and the vengeful anger born of forced interface, she dug her fingertips into the channels, hissing in satisfaction as she felt the delicate connective fibers warp and tear. 

Sunstreaker tried once again to scream, but the overrides prevented him from reaching optimal level to alert anyone to his distress. His favorite part of his body, the one that brought him the most joy and admiration, was going to be ripped from his body by the deranged femme. As the pain tore through his sensor net, his processor briefly flashed to the mech who had shared a femme with him once. He now knew what that mech had felt when Sunstreaker had ripped his spike from his body. 

“I’m not going to remove your favorite toy,” she said, releasing his spike, where it quickly depressurized, the pain removing any inkling for interface. 

Sunstreaker panted, his helm jerking on the berth as pain flared from his damaged spike. Primus, all the years spent in the Pits, fighting vicious opponents, receiving wounds, some life threatening, it was nothing compared to the abject fear chilling his spark and numbing his soul. 

He whimpered, his spike screaming in pain, feeling as if its very foundation had been ripped out from under it. It was going to take the medic some time to repair it. The pain in his spike disappeared, only to be replaced with a burning inferno in his processor. Sunstreaker tensed, the burning, pounding ache making him contort on the berth. He may not have conscious control over his body, but the cables and wires automatically twitched in response to violent stimuli. Sunstreaker felt as if he was being pulled down a dark, sucking void, the heat erupting over his plating feeling as if it would ignite any moment. 

A new string of codes started mingling with the scrolling text, pulling Sunstreaker’s mind away from the agony of having his spike torn. Curiously he watched as the files easily bled together, their codes accepting without hesitation, their interaction as gentle as his interface with the femme. 

“Wha… what did….. you… do?” Sunstreaker asked through clenched denta.

“Just a little rewrite of your programming,” she answered, planting a tender kiss on his shoulder as her hand circled his torso, tracing the spastic cabling as neural relays were bombarded with sensory input. 

Sunstreaker couldn’t speak. A thousand monsters were tearing him apart, piece by piece, ripping out every fiber of his being and serving him up on a platter of useless supplication. He was fodder, to be used by Primus and left broken and bleeding on an alter, headed to the smelter. 

“You see, I know you think you did me a favor,” she explained, wishing she could see the mech who destroyed her, and she in turn, consumed him. “But I want you to know what you did. What you believed to be yours to take. What you destroyed.”

Sunstreaker bucked off the berth, his voice a steady staccato of groans and whines, rising in pitch as he fought the terrible cataclysm reaping his mind. And endless stream of data poured into his memory cache, the previous encryption codes she installed latching onto the files and permanently sealing them into his soul.

“Since it is my decision on your fate, according to doctrine, then your fate is thus,” she stated, cold and merciless. “You are to retain my memories of this tragedy and relive them every time you try to interface.” She grasped his damaged spike, earning a hooting type of yell, “Every time you berth another, you will be bombarded with my memories, feel my pain, my anguish. You will suffer with me, all through the rest of your miserable existence. That is my punishment to you.”

Her forefinger retracted, displaying a long thin tubular contraption, extremely sharp on the end. She found the base of his spike with her palm, then with the dexterity of an artistic maestro, pointed the needle toward the base of the limp spike, where it joined his body. “Now, let’s see how high you can scream, shall we?”

She plunged the needle straight into Sunstreaker’s body. The new encoding returned his vocal capacity, allowing him the bonus of screaming his pain and suffering to the heavens. The scream lasted a long time. An organic would have sputtered, unable to reach the length and volume of Sunstreaker’s voice. With one last convulsion he fell limp on the berth, his system shutting down to reinitialize the memory patches she just had installed and layered so eloquently, no one would ever be able to pinpoint them and remove them. 

Sunstreaker’s fans whirled on high, adding to the cacophony. His plating rattled so hard, pieces popped off and went flying across the room. His spark pounded madly in its casing, beating a war cry at the injustice of it all. 

As Sunstreaker fell motionless, save for the occasional twitch, she leaned over his face, planting one last kiss on his lips before smiling, “You claimed me, now I claim you.”

She withdrew the hard-line connection, the cord coiling back into her wrist. She closed the access port on Sunstreaker’s helm, and felt along the edge of the berth. 

Blindly the femme slid from the berth, her legs shaking so hard it felt as if the world was suffering from laborious tectonics. Pain seared from her valve, but she ignored it, focusing on finding a way out. She ventured to the side of the berth, placing one hand on the wall, the other she kept outstretched at her waist, feeling through the air as she started the tedious task of finding the door. Of course, if what her attacker said was true, and only he had the codes, she would have to hack into his systems to find them, and she really didn’t want to delve back in his processor again to find them. 

Ever.

So, taking the gamble that he was lying, she started her circuit of the room. She bumped into a chair and a table, but easily found the guidance of the wall and continued to explore. When her fingers encountered a seam, she bit back a whoop of triumph. Now, the hard part would be in opening the door. She felt the perimeter, and upon finding the locking mechanism, she fumbled against the control pad. Unsure what type of security system was in place, she tried punching random buttons, hoping to use an access code or maybe override the system. 

The heady scent of interfacing hung in the air, making it stagnant and suffocating. She wanted out of this room and away from the mech that had violated her. Her fingers scratched at the lock, then the seam in feral frustration, trying to find a weakness.

Grotto heard a scratching at the door and hit the override. The small femme his guards had acquired was standing in Sunstreaker’s doorway, a surprised look in her broken optics. He let out an involuntary gasp, his optics darting to his companion in the hallway.

“Who’s there?” she demanded hoarsely upon hearing his startled noise. 

“A friend,” Grotto lied. The femme didn’t need to know his name, lest she alert the authorities. The gladiatorial mogul didn’t need that kind of attention. 

He noted her unfocused gaze, wavering as if deciding the location of his voice. Then he remembered, his thugs had taken her sight. She couldn’t see the pink femme braced against the wall where Grotto had been spiking her, his actions driven purely by carnal desire as he listened to Sunstreaker and the femme coupling behind closed doors. His optics darted to her silver stained thighs, and a wicked smile graced his face as he envisioned the gladiator screaming his pleasure and marking the femme so thoroughly. His spike wept upon the floor with the imagery. 

Grotto looked the femme up and down, taking in her monochromatic features and petite frame. He didn’t understand how Sunstreaker could find her attractive, and from the sounds that drifted from the gladiator’s quarters, he had enjoyed his pricy acquisition. 

But if all Sunstreaker wanted was a less experienced berth mate, what did it matter how they looked? Grotto preferred the femmes with a sturdier build, and preferably someone with a lot of experience that could give him a good frag. He gave the small femme a contemptuous sneer, disliking everything about her, from her black and white coloring, to the small hands, short stature, and too thin structure. He thought if a strong enough wind picked up, it would blow the femme away. 

Which wouldn’t be a bad idea. 

Sunstreaker had had his fill. It was now time that the little distraction was gone so life could return to normal. And Grotto could partake of his own reward. Perhaps if Sunstreaker had found favor in her, he would be open to making his arrangement with Grotto a permanent thing? Grotto would supply fresh berthmates and in turn, Sunstreaker would show his gratitude with his thick spike. Grotto weakened at the thought. 

“Can you help me?” she asked, one hand holding the edge of the door frame while the other waved beseechingly through the air.

Grotto snapped out of his reverie and gently touched her hand. He yelped when her fingers grasped his. Not wanting the femme to know his purpose for being outside the door, he peeked inside the room and asked, “What about your companion?”

The femme canted her head, as if weighing her words, then answered, “He demanded I leave his presence so he may rest.” 

Grotto looked from the femme to the mech recharging on the large berth. Sunstreaker looked even more appealing surrounded by plush comfort and bathed by the fluids of intense interfacing. The air hung heavy with the scent of ionized lubricate and spicy transfluid. Grotto took a long draught through his intakes, the scent so strong he could almost taste it in his oral cavity. He licked his lip components, one of his hands gentle upon his spike, which continued to cry in abandonment.

“Rest…” Grotto said absently, forgetting his audience for a moment.

“Yes, he said he needed a good recharge and he was not to be disturbed,” the femme said, her fingers intertwining with the larger ones of her apparent savior, unseeing his rigid posture and careful caresses of his spike. “So if you don’t mind, I would like to leave now.”

Grotto seemed to snap out of his stupor. He looked to the sightless femme and said, “Yes, I think it wise if you weren’t here when he awakens.”

The femme nodded, stepping into the hall with the guidance of the strange mech. She opened her mouth to voice her gratitude when a heavy hand struck the back of her head, throwing her to the floor in an unconscious heap. 

“Sorry, sweetspark, but it’s better if you don’t know where we brought you, or hear any designations,” Grotto said, sending a call to his thugs to come and collect the femme. 

Now that Sunstreaker’s appetite was appeased, the femme was no longer needed. Grotto had every intention of returning her to the surface, and if he was lucky, no one would ever be able to identify his mechs as the kidnappers. It was best if her visitation simply vanished, and removing the now useless femme from his premises was a good start. 

A mech appeared and easily hoisted the femme over his shoulder. As he left his employer, he was joined by two other mechs, all three adorned in night, the shadows welcoming them with ease. No one noticed that Sunstreaker’s door had remained open, and that the mech inside was blissfully unaware of his surroundings. Grotto dismissed the pink femme, then slipped through the door, his processor buzzing with the thought that Sunstreaker’s lust wasn’t going to be the only one sated this night. 

 

\-----00000------000000 000000------000000 ------00000------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As they say, “Revenge is sweet!” 
> 
> And sadly, this is the last we’ll see of Sunstreaker. It’s been fun writing his dark side and escapades. Not too sure how well I rank in the smut writing department, but at least I can say I’ve done my best. 
> 
> I intentionally left it ambiguous, that way the reader can imagine their own scenarios in which Sunstreaker was tormented. 
> 
>  Next chapter is the conclusion, then after that... 
> 
> The Epilogue to the sequel, "And Together, We Rise." which has been in the works for over two years. I've been hesitant to upload it though because I'm not sure if it would be well received.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: There’s a little surprise at the end. Hopefully no one will see it coming.

\\\\\\\\\////// \\\\\\\\\///// /////\\\\\\\\\ /////\\\\\\\\\

 

“Primus,” a soft male voice said upon entering the room in the medical ward. “Who did this to you?”

The femme twitched at the tone, but forced herself to remain immobile. She recognized the voice of her mentor. A part of her felt ashamed at having him to witness her at her most vulnerable, but another part reminded her that he was a professional, and that his assistance was undoubtedly needed. 

“They destroyed my optical relays when they overpowered me,” she admitted, hating the feeling of being so exposed. “I’m guessing to protect their identities and to keep me from bringing the Security Response to their doorstep.”

“It’s just…. “ he trailed off, unable to properly voice his sorrow and repulsion to what was displayed before him. 

Graying transfluid pooled between her legs, her valve releasing the fluid as it lost its charge. He felt relieved upon seeing the discharge, knowing its release meant she hadn’t been forced into a spark merge. If she had, there was a chance she could have sparked. 

“It’s bad,” she said, more as a statement of fact than a question. She took a shuddering intake and added, “Rehabilitation is out of the question. I want a new upgrade.”

“Upgrade?” the voice asked in surprise. “Surely after all you went through to obtain this frame, not only the cost, but the painful reformatting procedures, you would want to keep it.” 

“It’s…. no longer suitable,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. 

“Nothing that repair and replacement won’t fix,” he said, hoping to change the femmes mind. In reality, the frame was suited to her. It had been designed by the best couture specialist in the region. The delicate instruments all medics required to install in their systems were perfectly balanced in the finely tuned frame, and she carried their burden with a professional grace he would never possess. His frame was bulky, blocky, and scarred white, typical for those in the medical profession. 

“Take too long,” she said flatly, though she knew it wouldn’t take as long as she implied. “I’d rather just start fresh. Less of a hassle.”

Knowing he wouldn’t change the femme’s mind, he gave a slow nod, though she couldn’t see it. He sighed in resignation and said, “Very well. If that’s what you want to do.”

“It is,” she said softly, one optic gave a weak flicker, as if already mourning its passing. She was never going to be that weak again. That was a vow she intended to keep. “I wish to reformat into a mech.”

“Mech?” he asked in surprise. That was certainly NOT what was going through his processor as he ran through possible frame types for his best student. 

“I no longer wish to keep a feminine frame,” she said, wanting so badly to purge her tanks at the thought of changing into a frame that modeled her attacker. “If I’m to perform my job, I need a frame that can’t easily be overpowered. I need something strong, sturdy, able to fend off an attack.”

His cool purple optics traveled over the torn femme body, taking in the damage, his diagnostics showing copious amounts of transfluid and energon. Dents and scrapes covered the majority of her body, and fluids pooled around her lower regions. He hated to admit it, but she had a point. The femme frame was very nice to look at, and many preferred the pleasure from a value to a spike, but the design didn’t offer much by way of protection and defense. Over half of the population was modified for their various jobs and could easily overcome the smaller frame. 

“I want you to do the transfer,” she said, turning her sightless optics to him. 

He halted his answer, taking in the battered face, once so beautiful and round and full of hope. Now it was destroyed, not only physically, but emotionally as well. The fire in her optics that always shone so bright while she worked, the passion and determination that seemed unfathomable, shining from the depths of her very soul as she strived to be the best, surpassing all of her colleagues and even a few of her professors.... 

All of it, now gone. 

Destroyed by a monster that snuffed out the light. Who couldn’t see its brilliance, nor witness the wonder and majesty of an artist at work, healing the wounded with the gentlest of care. All of that had faded, been erased. The destruction of such a life was inexcusable, and for a brief moment, the doctor wished he could find the one responsible and inflict the worst possible damage. Their torment would mean nothing compared to the life they had taken while they sated their lust. 

“You have been my best student,” he said slowly, taking the small hand in his own, and feeling his spark skip a beat when her hand recoiled from his touch. “I would be honored to assist you.”

“Thank you,” she said in a soft voice. “I would trust no one else.”

“When do you wish to begin?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“As soon as you are able,” she said, finding courage to give his hand a squeeze of reassurance. 

A sad, faint smile graced his face for a moment, finding her inner strength to be unexpected and completely overwhelming. The little femme, soon to be retrofitted into a frame similar to his own, was going to make an excellent healer one day. The tragedy she endured would forever haunt her, but her willingness to help others would help her to survive the ordeal. There were reserves of strength buried so deep in her spark, the medic had a feeling she could persevere through anything.

“I will clear my schedule,” he said, holding her hand protectively in his own. 

He wanted to touch her face and tell her how proud he was and overcome by her strength, dedication and passion. But he knew he could never express such emotions, especially not while she was in such a vulnerable state. Perhaps one day he would be able to tell her how he felt, but until that time, he would have to make due with helping her to complete her medical training. A part of him knew he would be in awe of her work, and that it was a matter of time before the medical profession would realize the treasure that guarded their lives so vehemently. 

“Thank you,” she said, her voice becoming distant as her shut down protocols activated.

“Nothing but the best for my favorite student,” he smiled, his spark fluttering in hopeless defeat as she powered down in complete trust, placing herself in his hands without hesitation. “You’ll get through this, I promise.”

He gently brushed his fingers across her busted cheek, feeling something inside of himself wither and die, mourning for the opportunities lost. 

“You will always be the best, no matter what frame you take,” he said to her motionless form. “No one will be able to take that away from you, Ratchet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what did you expect?


	13. Epilogue: And Together, We Rise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Approximately 3 months after the Autobots and Decepticons wake up on Earth.

Epilogue:

 

 

And Together, We Rise

 

000000------oooooo-00000-ooooo-00000-ooooo

 

“Come on Sunshine!” Sideswipe crooned, hitting the triple digits on the highway, the sound of sirens falling away into the distance. 

“Stop calling me Sunshine,” Sunstreaker groused, maintaining a short distance between their bumpers. 

Sideswipe cackled, accelerating to the sharp bends that marked the Oregon countryside. Though the state was forged in unforgiving volcanic rock, the sharp turns and chaotic roadways were a Lamborghini’s playground. The twins were extremely pleased with Tele-Tran for scanning their new alt modes. They would have self terminated if they had to be seen in ‘domestic’ armaments. Not only did they enjoy racing along the streets and hugging the curvaceous asphalt, but they also employed another favorite pastime. 

Being a menace to constabulary officials. Imagine the twin delights when they realized the human population had several branches of policing agencies. And they vowed to test every single one of them. 

Prowl had already commed and informed the duo they were expected back at the Ark and their cell was waiting, as per usual. Apparently the local police had contacted the Autobot headquarters and warned them of their speeding allies. Sideswipe suspected the Ark was already on the humans’ speed dial. 

Prowl had tried to explain to the human authorities that some of their warriors needed the freedom given by speed, but understandably, other commuters had to take president. The Autobots were granted one hour a month at a local racing track for those who wanted to participate. The twins took the time in stride, then spent the rest of their time racing along the highways and being a general nuisance to anyone without a fast engine. 

Sunstreaker gave a pained cry, slamming on his brakes and slewing across the road. His tires screamed along the asphalt, making a set of black landing strips across the highway as he fishtailed and barely avoided colliding with the guardrail. As soon as he shed his significant speed, he transformed, the carrying momentum causing him to gallop a couple of steps before dropping to his knees, grasping his helm. 

Sideswipe careened off the road, his tires grating along the serried border that served to wake up potential sleepers behind the wheel. He shuddered hard against its gruff surface and transformed, performing a fancy street move he learned off of Jazz the week before. He stood in perfect attention, like a gymnastic poised to accept their round of applause for a well executed feat, but when only pitching whines greeted his presentation, he dropped his manner and headed for his twin. He winced, feeling the residual pain leak across their bond. The sensation of having someone shoving a fork into his processor was becoming very uncomfortable. He knew it was nothing compared to what Sunstreaker must be experiencing. 

Vents open and air heaving in heavy cycles, Sunstreaker fought to ward off the pain, but his attempts only made the situation worse. With a strangled cry he fell off line, the ingrain need of self preservation keeping him from screaming into madness. 

Sideswipe barely got to his twins side before he collapsed. He pulled Sunstreaker across his shoulders and carried him into the surrounding wilderness. Humans were still very wary of the Cybertronians, and if an unsuspecting one came across the two very large and very skilled front line warriors, well, there was a chance that problems could arise. Sideswipe’s quick thinking kept their exposure to a minimum.

Wordlessly, Sideswipe disconnected a lead from his wrist and inserted it into the access port of his twin, trying to manually reboot him or at least get a basic diagnostic so he would have the information for Ratchet when they got back to base. But Sunstreaker’s processor was completely shut down. There was no scrolling messages, no urgent flashes, no warnings, or any readouts. Only blank nothingness greeted his inquiry. The only worrisome aspect of Sunstreaker’s condition was when Sideswipe touched him, his plating was extremely hot. Internal heating must have triggered a protective measure to keep the warrior offline until he cooled enough to allow a reboot. Sideswipe idly wondered if his brother scorched his paint when he carried him into the brush.

Frowning, Sideswipe withdrew his connection and tried reaching out with the bond he shared with his brother, but only silence greeted his summons. It was odd. Sunstreaker always broadcasted to his twin, each knowing where the other was at all times. Even in recharge, they instinctually knew where each other were. Their sparks were in constant communication, unless they chose to close off their end for sensory bombardment or not wanting to alert the other of their emotions or in Sideswipe’s case, his mischievous intentions. 

The ruby Lamborghini didn’t like this cold silence coming from his twin. It didn’t seem natural. 

Sunstreaker twitched, and a spark winked along his helm in a good imitation of Red Alert when Sideswipe was at his most devious. Sideswipe pulled his brother against his chest, cradling him near and opened a comm. to headquarters, ignoring the blistering heat radiating from the golden frame.

‘Sideswipe to Ratchet,’ he called, ignoring the two barks of outrage against his hacking of the broad band width. Red Alert threatened and spewed Decepticon propaganda and infiltration and Prowl declared both twins to an extensive stay in the brig. But Sideswipe paid them no mind. His attention was centered on Ratchet’s comm., which remained silent.

‘Sideswipe to Ratchet,’ he repeated, desperation clouding his vocals.

‘What, you annoyance?’ Ratchet snarled in his usual good humor. ‘If you or your twin did something stupid to get yourselves hurt, you’re just going to have to suffer with it.’

‘Sunny collapsed,’ Sideswipe said, hoping that help was already heading for their location. He made sure his distress signal was broadcasting loud and clear. 

‘What did you do to him?’ Ratchet asked, sounding more annoyed than concerned.

‘I didn’t do anything!’ Sideswipe snapped, feeling very helpless. ‘He just transformed, grabbed his helm and went off line.’

‘Sounds like a trick to me,’ Red Alert put in, having to eavesdrop on every conversation on the public bandwidth.

‘It’s not a trick!’ Sideswipe snarled, his grip tightening on his brother. ‘Sunny’s plating is burning hot and his helm sparked.’

‘If you are trying to get out of your punishment detail….’ Prowl started, but Sideswipe screamed over his droning.

‘My brother is unconscious and unresponsive! Something is wrong with him!’ Sideswipe’s voice was strong and commanding. ‘Get here and help him! NOW!’

‘On my way,’ Ratchet intoned, sounding harassed. 

Sideswipe was ready to throttle the entire Autobot forces with the nonchalance being bled through the comm. line. 

‘Don’t hurry on my account,’ Sideswipe seethed, sending as much venom as possible through the communiqué. ‘Rest assured that if my brother terminates, I will be right behind him and your slagging afts can fight the Decepticons all by yourselves!’

Sideswipe cut the connection, uncaring if the command unit was now mobilizing to punish his insubordination. If it took his court martial to get Sunstreaker assistance, then he would suffer it. Course the worst thing they would do was sentence him to the brig, which he practically lived in there anyway. And if they terminated him, which he doubted, then Sunstreaker would certainly follow him. The Autobots couldn’t afford to lose their two best fighters over something as simple as screaming for assistance for a downed comrade. Sideswipe didn’t hear the comm. chatter as Ratchet yelled for preparation of the med bay and stand by supplies, Prowl ordering Mirage and Hound out to find the downed warriors and supply backup in case of a Decepticon trap, and Prime ordering for immediate roll out. 

Five minutes later, Sunstreaker rebooted his optics, squinting as the late evening sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees. His body was slow to restart, his systems humming a low medley as they woke up. The first thing he was aware of was someone was holding him and their arms were wrapped very tightly around his upper body. Sunstreaker tensed, disliking the sensation of having another so close. 

When Sideswipe felt his brother move, and the rising sound of awaking systems, he released his death grip and pulled back to look at his brother. Sunstreaker offered a jumbled noise and slapped at the ruby warrior, demanding his release from the cuddling session. Sideswipe was reluctant but obeyed, knowing Sunstreaker disliked the perception of being weak. If someone saw him cradled in his brother’s arms, he’d self terminate to avoid the bantering of his comrades. 

“Get off me,” Sunstreaker grumbled, rising to his pedes. He swayed, but regained his balance, shoving his brother’s helping hand away. “I’m fine!”

“You’re not fine,” Sideswipe countered, rising with his brother and standing at arm’s length in case the golden warrior lost consciousness again. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Sunstreaker said, taking a step away from his twin. He really just wanted peace and quiet, and with Sideswipe’s constant urging along their bond and the loud noises the terrestrial fauna were providing, Sunstreaker felt ready to purge. Why couldn’t everyone and everything just mute? Why did it have to be so slagging LOUD?

“What happened?” Sideswipe asked, mirroring his twin and stepping forward when Sunstreaker stepped back. 

Sunstreaker growled, his hands rubbing his helm like a groggy sparkling that just woke up. “Nothing happened. Just had a minor ache and my slagging systems overcompensated. That’s all.”

“You’re lying,’ Sideswipe accused, standing directly in front of his twin, his optics dark and foreboding. “Why are you lying to me?”

“Back off,” Sunstreaker hissed, tensing when he heard engines approaching. Very familiar engines. Oh slag! “You didn’t?”

“Where are the idiots?” Ratchet bellowed, having transformed and waited by the side of the road for his two worst patients. Honestly, he was going to reformat both or send them to the smelters. 

Mirage and Hound flanked the perimeter, ready to set up a defensive screen if necessary.

“We’re here!” Sideswipe called, jerking his head toward the Autobots on the main road in clear invitation for his twin to follow. With a scowl, Sunstreaker followed, rubbing his helm to ward off the raw ache that crept into his processor. 

When the two stepped out of the treeline, Ratchet crossed his arms over his chassis and arched an optic ridge. “This is the emergency?”

Sideswipe grabbed Sunstreaker’s arm, ignoring the hissing protests and marched the golden Lamborghini to the white ambulance. “Sunstreaker off lined from what he claims was a minor ache and his systems overcompensated.” Sideswipe shoved his brother toward Ratchet like a sacrificial lamb, earning a death glare from his twin. “Check him!”

Ratchet looked amused at being told to do his job, but pulled out a scanner and began to sweep it over Sunstreaker’s statuesque form. When the display showed a clean slate, he switched to another test, waiting until it beeped through its cycle before giving Sunstreaker a look of exasperated indifference. 

“Scans are clean,” Ratchet reported, putting the scanner back in his sub space. 

“They can’t be!” Sideswipe barked, stepping around his twin and glaring at Ratchet. “You missed something! Run the tests again!”

“There is nothing to test for!” Ratchet countered, face taking on the dark hue that meant he was preparing for a good wrench throwing. “He’s clean! No anomalies.”

“Slag!” Sideswipe fumed.

“Sunstreaker, how do you feel?” Ratchet asked, ignoring the glowering Lamborghini. 

“Like I’m cursed,” Sunstreaker snapped, giving his brother a murderous glare that kept missing its target. 

“What’s wrong with your helm?” Sideswipe asked, turning his ire toward his brother. He knew he hit the right mark when Sunstreaker visibly recoiled. 

“Oh, Pit, you have to ask?” someone yelled from the Autobot ranks. They were ranged along the road side, staring at the Lamborghinis who apparently were trying to pull another one of their stunts. 

Sunstreaker’s head jerked to the assemblage, his optics lighting on each face and gauging who had spoken. Ironhide looked distinctly uncomfortable under the scrutiny. 

“NOTHING is wrong with me,” Sunstreaker sneered, puffing up his chassis and adopting a pose worthy of a runway. “I’m perfect. In every way.”

“Two additional weeks in the brig,” Prowl said in a flat tone. When Sideswipe squawked in protest, he added, “For raising a false alarm about the health and well being of a fellow Autobot and using said phantom injury in order to avoid brig time.”

“I wasn’t trying to avoid brig time!” Sideswipe yelled, throwing his hands up and glaring at the black and white. “I was worried about my brother, who twitched in my arms for ten minutes!”

Several sets of optics swiveled around to Sunstreaker and as expected, the golden warrior curled his fists and glared at his twin. It was hard to gauge on what had Sunstreaker so pissed, but with his history, it could be any number of things. 

“Sideswipe, Ratchet has performed his tests,” Optimus Prime started, halting the fuming warrior’s tirade. “He said there are no anomalies and Sunstreaker himself claims he is functional.”

“I’m telling you, Prime,” Sideswipe said, turning his turbo-puppy optics to their leader, “Something is wrong. Sunny collapsed. You have to believe me.”

“With your record?” Prowl asked, his door wings fluttering in amusement. 

Sideswipe scowled but didn’t say another word as Sunstreaker stalked over to him and punched him in the jaw, sending him staggering sideways.

“I said I was fine, you slagger!” Sunstreaker yelled, taking a step to his brother with every intention of settling this argument the old fashioned way. 

“Enough!” Prime commanded, halting Sunstreaker’s advancement. “Autobots, transform and return to base.” He glared at the Lamborghini twins. “That is an order.”

Everyone complied, Ironhide grousing about leaving his latest prototype and Hound and Mirage adamant to return to catch the last half of the soap opera they were infatuated with.

Sunstreaker transformed, following the command line back to base, the thundering his in processor rivaling the horsepower beneath his hood. He felt like he needed to purge his tanks, but kept his stoic façade going, not wanting the others to know the agony that clawed at his processor. He wanted nothing more than to sequester himself into a dark, quiet cell, the darkness the only witness to his torment. 

When the Autobots arrived back to base, Ratchet stalked to med bay, yelling at Wheeljack who hobbled out of his lab holding one of his aft plates and offering a sheepish look. Prowl transformed, crooked his finger at the two culprits, and lead them down into the brig, where he separated them into cells and ignited the searing purple energy bars. He left without a word.

“Sunny?” Sideswipe called, standing at the edge of his cell as close to the bars as he could without injury. The walls were reinforced with a resilient Cybertronian alloy. The small confines would be sound proofed, save for the energy bars that kept prisoners apprised of the outside world. 

“Don’t call me that,” Sunstreaker snapped, though his voice sounded more tired than angry.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sideswipe asked, trying to force his brother’s side of the bond to yield to his commands. 

“Nothing is wrong,’ Sunstreaker sighed, going to the berth and planting himself heavily on its surface. The padding on the cell berths was nothing compared to the private quarters of the mechs, but there was still enough cushion to allow a metal body to be comfortable. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Sideswipe warned, his voice taking on the edge of steel. “I can feel something, but I just don’t know what it is. Tell me what is bothering you.”

“I’m bound to an idiot that keeps getting me in trouble,” Sunstreaker offered, powering down his optics as the light seemed to bore into his processor. Primus, his CPU was throbbing!

“Sunny, we share a spark,” Sideswipe pressed, wanting to beat his twin into relenting. “I can feel pain and sadness when you let your side of the bond slip. Now tell me, what is wrong?”

“Forget it, Sides,” Sunstreaker sighed, draping an arm over his optics. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“I can help,” Sideswipe snapped, his fact creased with hurt that his twin wasn’t divulging any information. They shared everything. Why would Sunstreaker hide something now? 

“Just, leave it be, Sideswipe,” Sunstreaker called, his systems starting to power down in hopes that some charge would ease the stabbing pain along his processor. 

“Tell me, or as soon as we’re out of here, I’ll beat it out of you,” Sideswipe threatened, every intention of seeking answers in any fashion necessary. 

“Hardly a threat,” Sunstreaker snorted.

“I mean it,” Sideswipe growled, and the intensity of his anger was enough to drill deep into Sunstreaker’s spark. 

Sunstreaker wasn’t threatened by his twin. Many times the two had tussled and Sunstreaker could always best his brother, mainly because Sideswipe didn’t have the street skills bore of illegal fighting to fall back on. 

“It’s private,” Sunstreaker offered, not wanting his brother to know the cause of his strife.

Sideswipe wasn’t going to be deterred though. He learned long ago how to manipulate the bond he shared with his twin. Where Sunstreaker was physically the stronger of the two, Sideswipe had the mental control to navigate a closed bond and force it to open.

“You’re my twin. My other half. There are no secrets,” Sideswipe said, and with a determined spark, he plunged himself into the bond he shared with his brother, battering at Sunstreaker’s feeble defenses. 

Sunstreaker gasp, grabbing his chest as he felt his brother’s manipulation of their bond, forcing his mental barriers to collapse, giving Sideswipe free reign into his emotion. He wanted to scream to his twin to get out and respect his privacy, but Sideswipe was already too far gone into his quest. Sunstreaker gritted his denta, feeling his brother rake over his emotions and though Sideswipe couldn’t actively pursue memory files without a hardline connection, he could sense emotion over their bond. 

“Stop,” Sunstreaker hissed, finding the pain to be building in his processor from his brother’s actions. His spark thrummed in vibrant song, Sideswipe controlling its tempo.

Sideswipe was stoking the flame, giving the demons emotional fodder to feed, and though Sideswipe couldn’t see the files, Sunstreaker could. With a groan he knew what was headed directly for him as the wave crested and the memory loop opened, forcing him to relive the torment he had inflicted on another all those millennia ago. As the memory loop started, the emotions swelled like the tide, pulling him under their spell. 

In the neighboring cell, Sideswipe felt the emotional recoil from his twin, and with it, the pain and suffering that bombarded him with thundering force. He clenched his jaw, trying to keep from crying out, but it was too much. With a strangled yell that ended in a scream, Sideswipe collapsed clutching his helm. 

Sunstreaker wasn’t granted such peaceful release. He writhed on the berth, condensation beading on his armor, his cables strained to their maximum, his fists clenched, and the burning pain along his processor as the file sputtered. An involuntary cry left Sunstreaker as the mental scene played in its standard configuration, while the physical phantoms repeated on endless, torturous loops like a skipping record, scraping over the warriors psyche and eroding his resolve. 

After an eternity, the file played out, leaving Sunstreaker trembling and choking on cries. Overtaxed, and painfully raw, Sunstreaker’s systems initiated their shut down procedures. He gladly accepted the request for recovery stasis, though there was nothing to quell his torment as the darkness greeted him with open jaws and consumed him. 

 

00000-ooooo-00000-ooooo-00000-ooooo-00000

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And for those wondering why Ratchet and Sunstreaker didn’t recognize each other, remember, Sunstreaker never let her touch his face beyond kissing her wrist, so she has no tactile ‘face’ to put to her attacker. Also, I’m sure his armor has undergone some changes during the time when Sunny left the gladiator circuit and the war began and if you recall, he was only in his basic protoform covering when he violated her. 
> 
> Ratchet’s optics were broken so she didn’t see him and after her transferring to a new frame, there isn’t anything resembling her old self, so Sunstreaker wouldn’t know who she was either. Not to mention that both have had voice coders that can be altered, so essentially, they are complete strangers. 
> 
> Hope that clears up any confusion.

**Author's Note:**

> Told ya it wasn’t going to be pleasant. Yes, Sunstreaker is a real bastard, and after reading through his profile, I added a bit more to get the point across that he really isn’t someone to mess with. In or out of the berth. They couldn’t show his true nature in the cartoon, or even to a decent degree in the comics, so here’s a full Dark Side Sunstreaker.


End file.
